E L E V E N

I don't mind people staring at me when I'm on stage. We're all into the same thing, we're all of the same mind. After the show's over, it's different. All I want is to blend into the background.

A fade out of the spotlight was what I was aiming for at the bikers' campsite and wasn't doing too bad a job. The highway fiasco scared the hell out of everybody. There's nothing like facing your own mortality to somber one down. Like instantly. So everybody was fairly subdued and willing, even anxious, to close off and keep to himself.

Except for Alice. Alice sat next to me on the worn surface of an old, fallen tree. She put her arm through mine and snuggled in which would have been nice if she'd had the sense to stop babbling. Or if Snakelady hadn't been standing a couple of yards away glowering. Her aura was shut down like it had never been. It was impossible to tell what she was thinking without actually probing her mind and I didn't want to do that. Didn't even want to try. Still, I got the impression this woman faced the world alone and on guard.

I could appreciate that.

A campfire blazed in the near distance where a couple of folks prepared a meal. The rest of the tribe sat around the fire talking quietly. Somebody's tape-mix of Willie Dixon, Muddy Waters, Alberta Hunter and others crooned out woeful noise, bittersweet angels giving comfort in the dark.

Part of me followed the thread of Alice's chatter, part of me listened to the music and the night. Most of me turned inward, thinking. Planning. This was a talent I'd turned into a personal art-form long before I'd made the Change. In a life that made for too much intimacy and too little privacy, the ability to find solitude in the crowd gave me a foothold on the tightrope of mental balance. Most of the time, though, it was less a rope and more a series of stones bridging a flooding stream. Everything was okay as long as I could see the stones or judge where to jump between. But lots of times I lost my footing. Struggled to safety only to have that rock sink as well. When Tasia made me "flesh of her flesh ... blood of her blood" like some bad, late-night video, it initiated some incredibly fancy footwork across the darkest river I'd ever seen. I expected my life to change and it did. Still, I thought....

Tasia lied to me. Even Tasia lied.

"So," Alice jabbered, back on planet Earth. "You're going to stay with us, aren't you?"

A direct question caught my attention.

"Just until I get new transportation."

"Snake and I have bikes. You want to ride, you can double with us."

"Thanks. But I don't think we're going the same way."

"Are you going back to the beach?" Alice grinned at her friend. "I told you, Snake. You should've stuck around the other night. You should have seen them. It was the best! You should've heard him sing."

"I don't like bar music." There was nothing inscrutable about Snake's dislike. She snarled with absolute conviction.

"It wasn't like that," Alice protested. "It was ... it was fantastic!"

"I bet it was loud."

I nodded and said, "Yeah. It was."

"Like I said. I don't like bar music."

"Don't pay any attention to her," Alice broke in. "Tell me — what happened to the rest of the band? Where are your friends?"

"They went on."

Alice touched the side of my face. "We'll be your friends," she said.

It wasn't a come-on. We were still a bit linked although she was unaware of all that. She understood I felt low and wanted me to feel better. No one had to tell me Alice had changed. I could see all that on Snakelady's face. For good or bad, Alice wasn't going to be as she had been. She tightened her arm around me and I hugged her back a little, afraid to encourage her but warmed by her pleasure.

Fragile, oriental features twisted in what could have been a smile but wasn't. "Don't mind me," Snake drawled. "I like to watch."

"Why don't we go with him?" Alice giggled and slipped closer. "You said you didn't want to hang around with Dodger any more."

"That's not a good idea," I began a beat too quick.

"Why?"

My mouth and head worked for a reasonable excuse but all I could come up with was a heartfelt, mental Shit!

"He doesn't want you with him, Alice. That's why," Snake said. "Give it a rest, girl."

Alice sat back on the log, her hands folded in her lap. For a moment, she closed herself away and withdrew completely. Snake got that nauseated expression folks get on their faces after chowing down on rancid shoe leather.

After an uncomfortable pause, Alice looked up and announced, "That was a mean thing to say."

Snake shifted her weight to the other leg. Looked away.

Alice got to her feet. She stood a minute before heading off to the campfire. "I might not be as smart as you," she said, "but I'm not stupid. And I'm not mean."

We both watched her walk off. Snake's confusion, worry and regret fluttered across her face like moths beating at neon.

"Why don't you just let her go?" I asked.

"Think you know it all, don't you?"

"No."

Snake shoved her hair out of her eyes with the back of her fist. "When I first met Alice, she was working and living in this diner outside Atlanta. Rat hell. Maybe you know that kind of place? She was a mess. They didn't give her nothing to eat but scraps and the old man who owned the place used to — Never mind. That's none of your business."

"You don't have to tell me this," I said, wishing that she wouldn't.

"When I first talked to her, Alice couldn't remember how she got there. She couldn't even remember her own name," Snake went on. "When things get bad for Alice, her mind goes to the stars — like tonight on the side of the road. When she comes back, she's shaky and scared, sometimes for days. She's different now."

"Well ... she seems okay to me."

"I'll bet. You were the first person she looks at when she comes back tonight. She's not Snow White and I don't think you're any Prince Charming. I don't trust pretty men. I don't like people who try to hurt my friends."

"Neither do I."

"You don't know Alice like I do."

"That's right," I agreed and stood up. "You knew all the right buttons to push, didn't you? Don't talk to me about hurting people."

My temper was close to the surface when I stalked past Snake's indignation. I walked fast. Couldn't afford the luxury of anger.

I stopped outside Rick Mallock's van and looked behind me. Snakelady had disappeared. I couldn't see where. I told myself I didn't care but her heat followed me like something wild. There was pain beneath her anger and I didn't want to feel that. I didn't want to feel anything. Byron was right. I was still too close to them.

Mallock had parked far enough away that the campfire was nothing but a lively glimmer behind trees and brush. In the near distance, figures moved together in bunches, each seeking assurance from the other, from the herd. It crossed my mind then to wonder why the Blood referred to mortals as herd animals and themselves as pack? I had known humans who were monsters, Fae who were angels, the real article. Was there really that much separating the two? The people in camp were human. Not cattle. Not sheep. Only humans carried the souls that fed, the souls that nourished. Animal blood, although warm, did not — could not — sustain. At least, not for long.

So what did that make me? Was I more than what I had been or less? I know Tasia would say more.

But Tasia lied!

I tried to put it all together again, Touraine, Auberon, Tasia. What was the point? I had tried to learn as much as I could about the Fae, about the Blood. I knew now that Auberon Rex was just that, one of Faeries' High Kings. Possibly one of the highest. So what was he doing wandering around New York City with that rabid slime, Touraine, looking to slaughter insignificant moi? What was so terrible that Tasia couldn't tell me? What was so terrible about us — together?

Why had it been necessary for me to drink Auberon's blood?

"It brings a special gift," Tasia had told me. "Special powers. His blood joins you to Faery."

"And that's good because...?" No answers. Again. I felt pretty skeptical. I didn't suspect the High King of Faery opened veins for every new vampire brought into Tasia's house, even if she was a big-time queen of her kind. Frankly, they just didn't seem that friendly with each other.

"The blood binds you to Faery, as you are bound to me," Tasia said. "Now you can never harm them."

"Why would I want to do that?"

"A good question," she agreed. "Why would you? Auberon has always been so suspicious. Well, you know how elves are."

No, I hadn't a clue — but she wouldn't tell me anything more.

Standing outside Mallock's van, I threw all those puzzle-pieces up in the air. Let them fall, scattering around in my head but I still couldn't make sense of it.

Why couldn't she trust me? Why couldn't she talk to me?

Why couldn't I say to her, "Keep your secrets, I don't care about anything else as long as we can be together"?

Because I did care. It hurt. She hurt me. Tasia knew everything about me, I had held nothing back from her. So, she was a big-time vampire queen and I was — what I was.

Shit.

So ... what if I went back like Roxie and Fist suggested? When I said to her, "I'm going back home, back to America," Tasia looked at me as if she had been expecting to hear that all along, almost relieved to hear it. "Yes," she said, "of course."

Didn't even try to talk me out of it. Lots of words of caution, lots of advice, lots of meetings and plans. Not a single, "Don't Go." Far from it.

So what did I have to go back to — indifference? Probably the best I could hope for.

This kind of thinking was nuts. And the camp was not exactly the best place to crack up. I wondered what madhouse impulse made me accept Mallock's offer of shelter. An hour past, it had seemed the lesser of several probable evils. At first I thought it might make a good opportunity to feed and leave but the tribe's anxiety worked against it. Snake's cobra eyes worked against it, too. She couldn't wait to catch me in the act of — anything. It would have been awkward but not impossible to take off on foot. But the thought of Jimmy Bowland lurking somewhere on the road didn't fill me with warm and happy thoughts. Sometimes being alone is not such a good idea.

<...so true....>

The voice floated out from the deep mass of the woods. Shadow-speak and, somehow, familiar. Wyr Wind followed, pulsing gently, so it was probably Blood. Wary, I turned towards its direction. The east coast is thick with Fae. It isn't unusual to find a stray especially around parks. I hoped I wasn't trespassing. Roxanne was right. Rogues aren't tolerated and Blood can be worse than cats about territory. Anyway, I called out the traditional greeting, <We are one Blood>

And waited.

<We are one Blood>

I called again in a shadow voice only shadow can hear, a sound no louder than the breeze drifting through leaves. Another presence questioned back, probing around me.

The quiet was so thick you could stick your hand in and stir it. Then the Wyr wind flared up, surging to the stars. It raced over me and — nothing. Whoever — or whatever — had been there was gone. Fae are notoriously shy. They are also notorious jokers. (They call their games "pranks" and "tricks." I wouldn't.) Staying here was less and less a good idea. Aggravated, I brushed off and turned back to Mallock's van. Mounted the step, paused and looked around.

Inside, Doctor Mallock was having the little drink he'd promised himself some time ago. From the look of it, he'd had a lot of little drinks. He sat on the floor of the van, legs splayed out, and grasped a near-empty fifth of Jim Beam in one fist, balancing it on his thigh. A battery operated lantern filled the area with a harsh glow that didn't spread much light. Which was just as well because I didn't want to know what was strewn around on the floor.

Mallock raised the bottle, saluting, and beckoned me inside. "Come on in," he said. "Sit down. Welcome to exotic ... wherever we are. Have fun with the Bobbsy Twins?"

"Who?"

"Snakelady and Alice."

"You heard all that?"

"Enough. Look, Snake's okay. She's always picking up strays. Takes care of them whether they want it or not. You could say Alice needs a bit of looking-out for. Makes them a perfect match."

I picked a trail through the DMZ of the interior and collapsed behind the passenger seat by my gear.

"Are you sure you're feeling all right?" Mallock asked. "That was a hell of a wreck. You look pretty white to me. Shocky."

"No. No, I'm fine."

"Well, Alice seems to think so, doesn't she?" The doctor laughed and I winced.

"I didn't mean to start anything," I said.

"Well, you sure finished things with that cop. I still don't understand how you pulled that off."

"You don't like policemen, do you?"

"That was no policeman. That was a walking-uniform." Mallock took another drink from the bottle and held it out. "Join me?"

"No thanks."

"Why not? Afraid you'll catch something?"

"Afraid I'll throw up. I can't handle liquor. And, before you ask, I don't do drugs either so you don't have to worry about me bringing them in here."

"Then it's just sex and rock 'n roll with you, is it?"

"Basically."

Mallock closed his eyes and sighed. "Takes a smart man to know what he can't do." He let his head fall back against the wall of the van.

"I'm not smart." I shook my head. "I try to be careful but I fuck up all the time. Like tonight — I was just sitting in the car while you were running around saving everyone. I've never seen anything like it. Do they teach you that when you learn to be a doctor?"

"They teach you that in Vietnam. You had to move fast over there. There wasn't time to think about what you were doing. You just did it."

"How long were you over there?"

I heard Mallock say "Long enough" but he looked more like he meant "Forever." Part of him was still there.

Rick opened his eyes and sat up. I kicked some paperbacks out of the way and tried to get more comfortable.

"So now you live here," I said, gestured around. "In the Fortress of Solitude, the Phantom's Cave.... Look, I've got to ask this. What are you doing with Dodger Joe? I mean...."

Words failed me.

"Hell, I don't know," Mallock said. "I didn't plan to stick around this long but you know how it is. We were heading in the same direction and I guess I never got motivated to leave. There's some good people here."

"Dodger's not one of them."

"You got that right. Not in this lifetime." Mallock laughed again and I grinned, hiding my mouth with my hand.

"I thought you were in charge at first," I said. "Then Dodger came strutting over —"

"He's good at that."

"Yeah. Anyway, what with you being older —"

"Older?"

"Sorry. I ... uh ...well, I just wondered what a guy like you was doing out here. Don't you have any family?"

"You work for the National Enquirer when you're not playing rock star or what?" Mallock took another drink. Scowled. "It's none of your goddamn business, Red."

"Okay. I'll remember that, Doc."

"Don't call me 'Doc.'"

"Don't call me 'Red.'"

The doctor tried to maintain a glare but he was too tired and too full of bourbon to hold it. He didn't seem like a mean drunk, just a tired one. "Truce," he finally said. "Just call me Rick. And you're Tony, right?"

"Right."

"Tony...." Mallock shook his head, slow, back against the wall again. I could almost hear the liquor slosh from one side of his skull to the other. "Tony, I'm in a bad mood tonight. Don't mean to take it out on you. Don't mean to take it out on anyone. You know, you scared the shit out of me back on the road, at the fire. I thought I saw...."

"What?"

"I don't know." The doctor drifted on booze and fatigue. "Twilight Zone time, I guess. Everything happened so fast. I could see Pilot sliding under the wheels of your car. I knew he was a goner. Then when you started to get back in the Porsche and I saw the gas under the chassis — I knew you were dead. I knew it! And when it was all over and everything was all right, I could've killed you myself, I was so pissed. But from the way you looked at me, I thought I was going to buy the big one. You should have seen your face. Shit!"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. It was Twilight Zone time all right. Red eyes and fire and teeth — sharp teeth. It was ... it was nothing." Rick paused and took a shaky breath. "Just Nam I guess. That's all."

Another liquid laugh boiled out of his throat but there wasn't any joy in it. My fingers were digging fox holes in my knees.

"Do you want to hear a funny story?" Rick didn't stop for an answer. He rushed on. "Listen, I remember one time after I got back, I commandeered the candy stand at J.C. Penney's. No shit. We were shopping, Mom and me. Some kid popped a balloon. I took off like a shot. Next thing you know, I'm behind the counter, see? And I was yelling — sitting on this clerk — yelling for people to get down. Then, I looked out over the edge of the glass. I thought I was going to see ... I don't know ... thought I would see the jungle, the bush. But there were all these people standing around and it was real quiet. I could smell chocolate — strong. And there were all these goddamned jelly beans stuck on my arms, on the floor. Everywhere."

He saw it, lived it again. What I didn't see, I could imagine — a crowd of stranger faces, staring. His mother standing there, too, white to the roots of her Clairoled hair. The shame — and shaming — would come later. Probably on the ride home.

"I don't remember leaving the store or the mall," Rick continued. "I remember packing up and taking off that night. They're not big on crazies in the medical profession back in Sayner. Not even in the private sector. I thought I'd sort things out on the road, you know? I used to like traveling around. You see things, meet people. Hey — what's the matter, kid? This is a funny story. One of my best. How come you're not laughing?"

"I'm sorry. I guess I'm tired."

"Yeah, it's late," Rick agreed. "Anyway, the point is that it's all crazy. The whole bit with the teeth and the eyes. I was back in the Twilight Zone. Back at the candy store, you know?"

"Don't worry about it," I said (feeling a little like an ax murderer).

Rick fell into silence, lost in the time and distance he'd hoped would take him away from his horrors but there's never enough time. Never enough distance. Eventually, he nodded into sleep. Jerked awake after a few seconds. Finished the last of the bottle and chucked it out the door. It arced, flashing, and landed with a crash. Both of us started up at the sound. The doctor jumped and stared at me. He'd forgotten me.

"It's all right," I started. "You're —"

"Shut up! Just shut up." Rick searched for control. Found it. "Look, you're probably okay. I bet you mean well and all that crap. But I don't want to hear what you have to say. I don't want to talk anymore. Understand?"

"Okay, Rick. Sure."

"Stop looking so scared. I'm not going to rip your head off. I didn't mean to yell. I told you I was in a bad mood."

"I said it was okay."

I tried to look cool but inside I was scared, all right. What if he threw me out — in the day? In the sun? What if he found out what I really was? What would he do to me? Mallock shifted restlessly, embarrassed. His eyes stopped on my guitar case.

"Is that just for show or can you really play?" he asked.

"I can play."

"Then do it. Play something ... something nice. I don't care."

I pulled the case up on my lap. Opened it. Watched Rick's eyes widen staring at the blond wood and strings. Well, it was a beauty. As special as the person who gave it to me.

"Spanish?" Rick said. "Acoustic? I thought —"

"It's not all Gibson and Fender and Marshall amps." I touched the strings lightly and began to make adjustments on the tuning.

"From what Alice said, I thought you were into rock. Finito. Zip. All she wrote."

"You believe everything Alice tells you?"

"Only the stuff about the white rabbits." He grinned, trying to make again. I made a last correction and started to play. For me, relief was instantaneous.

Music is my drug of choice. You think I'm kidding? I crave it as much as any junkie craves dope, as much as other addicts crave booze or food, sex, work, cigarettes, pets, religion, books, model cars and little toy horsies. Some people clean house day and night and can't stand for things to be out of place. They see dirt everywhere. Others horde garbage. Everyone medicates in their own way. No matter what kind (or kinds) of anesthesia we use, we've got to have it. Obviously, some addictions are less noticeable and more acceptable than others. But don't try to kid yourself. No matter what form it takes, it's still a drug.

I wanted to divorce the present with music so I went for it. Tuned Mallock out. But he wouldn't cooperate.

"Where'd you get that?" the doctor asked. "Is that a ring or a weapon?"

"It's a souvenir."

"From what? The road show production of Dracula's Passion?"

"No. Dracula's Daughter."

I wasn't smiling and he didn't laugh. When I looked up, the doctor was studying me in the same way I imagined he'd use to dissect troublesome patients.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

"No."

"Want to talk?"

"Sure. Why don't you tell me some more about Vietnam?"

Rick made a face and clutched his chest, fell to his side. The van rocked with the impact. "You got me, ace," he groaned. He rolled to his back, twitched and expired. I tried to keep the sneer but it turned into something else.

"Very funny, Mallock. You're a real comedian."

"That's what my C.O. used to say."

"C.O.?"

"Commanding Officer."

Rick pillowed his head on his hands. I started to play again, a Spanish melody that spilled out of the van and into the morning.

"You're good," he said after a few minutes.

"You don't have to sound so surprised."

"I am surprised." Rick yawned. "Don't stop now, maestro."

I didn't answer. I just played. Light glanced repeatedly off the knot of silver, hypnotic. Now that he'd called my attention to it, I couldn't look away. But the ring didn't bother me so much. There were too many other things crowding my head.

When I looked at Rick again, he was asleep. Music had finished what exhaustion and bourbon had begun. I stopped to spread an old Army blanket over him. The night was cool and I knew what it was like to wake up aching, cramped and cold.

Alone, I could begin again, welcome melody's void. I closed my eyes and opened up. Memory arrived instead and I was too drained and tired myself to shove her away. So I opted for the best ones, scanned for happier times.

Tasia....

In the courtyard at Winter's Garden ... those blue and white mosaics glittered beneath her feet. She sat on a bench between two marble columns. A black lace mantilla shrouded her white-gold hair, her heart-shaped, young-old face. She smelled sharp like pine, sweet like jasmine. Always there was the musk of damp earth.

My hair was still long then. Waist length, it spilled down my back like fire. Danny wanted it like that. Tasia liked it, too, so I kept it. My skin was still dark with that dark-honey glow some fair skinned people get from the sun. I wore bleached-white cut-offs and a gauzy, turquoise colored shirt. It was one of the few times in my life that I wanted to and tried to look good. Whatever I had that I could offer her, I was grateful to lay at her feet.

Love makes you think up and do the stupidest crap imaginable. Every fragile moment is filled with the promise of terror and bliss. Yes, I was a complete and total sap. Sue me.

Tasia played a Spanish guitar, black as polished onyx. There were little flecks of silver and red along the edge, across the bridge and frets. She coaxed melody from the instrument as easy as she'd stroke a cat. Her foot tapped out the rhythm of her tune. She sang.

I sighed.

She looked at me and her child-mouth smiled, teasing. "Tears clean the eye. A sigh cleans the soul. What's the matter, caro?"

"Are you quoting from something?"

"It's an old saying and true. What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. I like the way you play. I always wanted to learn, too, but I never did."

"Is that all? I can teach you."

I grinned. Didn't have to cover my mouth back then. "You've taught me a lot already."

"This," she promised, "won't be as easy."

Laughing, I almost dropped the guitar when she thrust it at me which would have been tragic. It was such a fantastic piece. She made me stand up. Positioned my hands and arms to hold it correctly.

"Is this it?" I asked. "Is this right?"

I struck a pose, hit a jangled note that crashed the Garden's calm, still laughing like a star-blind idiot. Until she closed her hands on my wrists — hard. Hard enough to bruise. I made a sound, more startled than hurt, and she let go. She wasn't angry. I knew she wasn't angry ... but what?

Tasia put her arms around me, pulled me back against her. She lay her face between my shoulders, cold and smooth as ever. Flexible ice. She needed to be close, she needed me to understand.

But. I. Didn't.

I never understood. Most of the time, communion was a thing divine with us. Words were nothing. Sensation everything. But, every now and again, she'd slap me with this unfathomable, blank wall of misery and leave me wandering in the dark. Anxious to follow, eager to please -- desperate to bring her back and make her happy. I was no stranger to hopelessness or despair but hers was like a plague of longing. I should have understood. I should have been able to share anything that troubled her. Make it right.

"Tasia?" I gasped, alarmed. "What is it? What did I do?"

But she was gone. For a moment, I heard her footsteps striking lightly against the tiles. Then the breath of the Wyr wind as it transformed and took her up. When I turned about, she was nowhere to be seen.

Tasia....

... still in Greece, later, I sat on the beach and watched her dance. She swirled and dipped to the coming tide, her bare, tiny feet sparkling on the shore. My jeans were soaked to the knees with sticky, salt water. She flirted with the foam.

"What are you doing?" I called softly.

She raised her arms over her head, solemn. Her fingers clicked to an unheard rhythm. "This is how we used to dance in Barcelona," she said.

"They don't dance there any more?"

"Of course, silly. But I haven't been home in a long time."

The ghost of delight drifted in her voice. No regret this time. She snapped her head back, tossing her hair. It whipped around her face — her neck — her fine, bare shoulders like Medusa's pets.

She laughed again, shadow-glee I could barely hear — the echo of distant waves, a breeze sighing through rushes — and danced towards me. Then away. I didn't try to catch her or hold her. She was amazing just to watch.

I got up and followed her as she danced down the beach. After a short while, she came to a stop in front of me. Wrapped her arms around me. Pulled herself close. She stared up at me, her demon-angel face thrown back to look into mine. It was hard to believe Tasia was ever anything mortal. That she'd ever been anything less than the hope and heart of Fae. Wide, green, almond-shaped eyes stared into mine. Eyes like mine. Except for the color of our hair, we were so alike, we could have been twins, male and female. Yin and yang, animus and anima.

Hers was Gemelo House, the House of the Twins, and important. When we first met, Tasia told me how she had searched the decades for her fancies' match, the other-half of her soul. I didn't have to guess what kind of loneliness compelled her. We all need. We crave love. It's instinct. The drive may go bitter and cynical but it yields only at true death. Even still, it seemed a miracle of luck that we'd found each other. I'd stopped thinking, stopped hoping for such things long ago. Now there was no need to think and hope was a creature I held in my arms.

Her fingers twisted in the layers of beads and chains I wore around my neck. The strings broke and hundreds of tiny bits of glass and clay dropped into the sand. I placed my hands on either side of her wonderful face, touched her as gently, as tenderly as I would have touched a child. I drew her up to the arch of my throat.

Tasia ... ah, Tasia ... I should have died then.

I thrust the guitar from me and shoved to my feet in one, fluid motion. But even as I left the van behind, the voice of reason (my survivor voice?) warned there was nothing to be gained by running. Where could I go? How far? It was late and I was going to have to be zipped up and securely tucked away by dawn or pay. There was no simple, easy or painless way to end what I'd so enthusiastically set in motion. The stones in this bloody creek were crumbling faster than I could find a new direction.

Suddenly, running like that, I knew for sure that this was what it was to snap forever. And I stopped. Stumbled. Cursed, shaking. October air played over my skin. I wrapped my arms around myself and wondered.

I could still feel the cold. It didn't effect me. It couldn't hurt me. But I could feel it.

Slowly, I looked up into the woods. Behind me, the camp had retired for the night and, in the unbroken hush, it was easy to believe I was the only living being left in existence.

That wasn't right. I existed. I didn't live.

I had never lived.

Never.

There was a noise like crying but it didn't come from me. It couldn't have. Blood can't cry. Like the sun, I'd given up tears with the Change, glad to be rid of them.

I needed tears. I needed....

A night bird called where no living creature stirred. Eyes opened. Twin suns blazed in an indigo sky.

<Somebody come ... somebody....>

For a moment, I pictured Byron's brooding majesty commanding the night. I remembered Tasia's regal authority. The Blood rule the dark and their subjects.

<... somebody Come!>

Mine was more plea than demand. Need overcame shame and I called again and again. And waited.

Waited....

... until there was movement in the field behind me. She was as stealthy as her namesake. She hoped to scare me.

"Hey!" There was confusion and curiosity in her voice. No fear.

I closed my eyes. Fear would come.

"I heard music from Mallock's van. I heard...." Snakelady paused, suspicious. "What's going on? What are you doing out here?"

<... Ayame....>

I searched — and found a name. Something private and personal. When I turned about to face her, surprise and shock screamed in midnight eyes. She had bright, black eyes and they glowed with little flecks of caramel. Gold. Like the light shining, again, around her. Soft, but vibrant flame.

She was too strong to be called pretty. Her hair was a mess. I know what she saw when she looked at me.

She didn't run. She stood, shivering, and listened to me. She heard me whisper her name through lips that never moved. Snake's breath frosted the air. I didn't breathe.

I watched her, taking it in. All of it.

She still didn't run.

When I finally stepped towards her, pressed the heat of her body to mine, it was Ayame who put her arms around me, her hands balled into fists against my back.

I closed my eyes again. I didn't want to scare her, didn't want to hurt. My lips brushed hers and I felt hers open on mine. Her tongue slipped out to roam the dark cave of my mouth.

She was so warm. She was alive. She had answered my call.

For now, that was enough.

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