Wonderland
Alternity

1

Katherine slipped through the mass of young bodies blocking the club entrance and emerged with a growl of relief into the cool evening air beyond. The smell of sweat, alcohol and cigarettes clung to her skin. She considered it fortunate that vampires didn't sweat, or she would be pouring now. And the last thing she needed was a sheen of bloody sweat soaking through her thin clothing. As it was, the heat and noise inside was maddening enough.

Raking her fingers through her hair, Katherine stalked away from the club and into the sweet smelling grass and trees of the nearby park. The place was deserted except for a few teenagers making out in the shadows. But she plunged deeper into the quiet, foreboding darkness, to where the electric lights had been busted or burned out. Not long ago, she would've been too terrified to walk here. Now it seemed like blessed peace.

Katherine popped open the top few buttons on her blouse and tried to shake the edginess rattling inside her, and found a small empty field in which to rest. She cursed herself inwardly for making herself go in there, for trying to recapture some feeling of normality. The confusion of noise and thronging bodies overloaded her senses, stirring the wildness in her. Her hands shook as she clenched them at her sides, trying to stifle the fear and anxiety thrumming through her blood. The fear of losing control.

It had been too many nights since she'd gone out. She'd grown accustomed to solitude, whiling away the nights on the terraced balconies - and sometimes the roof itself - of Andrew's home, listening to the wind and the distant sounds of human life. Sometimes Andrew would visit her there, and occasionally Steph as well, but mostly they left her alone. Katherine often cried there on the balcony, alone, and let the tired agony slowly sink in. Trying to absorb the enormity of it all at once was impossible.

Tonight, Andrew suggested she go out, so she did. Maybe she thought the time alone would have eased her grief, brought her enough peace to venture out again and rejoin the world in some fashion resembling herself. Instead it only made the presence of other people unbearable.

Dejected, Katherine collapsed into a sitting position in the tall grass and sought to regain her equilibrium. A cool breeze wafted through the overgrown field, soothing against her white skin. Crickets were singing somewhere nearby. Hands in lap, she huddled there in the grass, waiting for herself to calm.

After a moment's silence, she became aware of a soft sound approaching through the whispering grass. The crunching of gravel and loose earth underfoot. Shivering, Katherine turned her head to one side, listening. The wind kept the scent away, but the carelessness of the sound betrayed the individual as human.

"Katherine?" She froze. Daniel's voice, uncertain and slightly afraid, drawing up close behind her. "Katherine, are you here?"

Leave, her instinct urged, leave now before he sees you. But Katherine held still, waiting in the near darkness and the weeds. He was close enough now that she could smell him, that delicate musky scent she'd known, twisting her body against his. Only stronger and sour with sweat. She could go without him ever knowing she was here. So what was she doing?

"Hey," Daniel called softly, seeing her faint silhouette, "Kat, is that you?"

Closing her eyes, Katherine sighed faintly. "Yes."

"I can barely see you."

Katherine turned slowly toward the sound of his voice. The breeze stirred her hair, brushing it forward into her face, and she languidly pushed it away. It was an effort to open her eyes and see this man again.

Daniel stood underneath the boughs of an old oak tree choked with mistletoe, dressed in a light green shirt and plain jeans. Perspiration glistened faintly on the lightly brown flesh of his forehead, his curly dark hair swept up and dancing in the wind. There were accusations in his eyes, wide and nervous, but also a helpless, wounded relief to see her.

He shifted nervously as she studied him. Katherine's eyes seemed to glow in the smothering darkness, cold and grey. Daniel had never seen her so thin and pale; her clothing hung too large on her delicate frame. "What are you doing out here?" he asked gently, frustration burning out, "It's not safe."

Katherine shook her head with a thin smile, her voice a murmur. "It's safe."

Licking his lips, Daniel ducked under a low-hanging branch and drew nearer, only to stop at the flash of pain which crossed her face. She looked away quickly. "How did you find me?"

"I saw you inside," Daniel explained softly, "But you left before I could reach you."

"No," Katherine's tone hardened, "Who told you where I was?"

Daniel sighed, squatting down in the grass to match her eye level. "Lee did. He came by after you left . . ." He looked down, and took a moment to recapture his voice. "He . . uh, he said you were staying with some guy. I thought he was wrong, you know . . . They said you weren't there. But I thought maybe if I looked around . . ." He shrugged.

Closing her eyes again, Katherine dug her fingers into the soft earth.

"Why did you leave?" Daniel asked weakly, "You could've at least said goodbye."

Muddy earth oozed between her fingers as she squeezed. "I couldn't," she whispered, "I had to go and I couldn't tell you. Couldn't let you get hurt."

"Why?" he asked faintly, his voice fragile. She stiffened under his touch as he clasped her shoulder, and he released her immediately. "Kat, what's wrong? Who is this guy?"

Katherine lifted her head, eyeing him with trepidation. Her eyes were beginning to burn, threatening to tear up, and she bit her lip mercilessly to force back the ache and rage burning up her insides. The taste of blood ran into her mouth, and she squeezed her eyes shut. "He's a friend," she forced out, "He's trying to help me."

Cupping her cheeks, Daniel turned her face toward him. The flesh underneath his fingertips was familiar, but much too cool. She was so very thin, her cheekbones high and stark on her once rounded face. "Why can't I help you?" he offered, choking on the words.

"Daniel . . ." But there was nothing else to say. Katherine shook under his touch, biting harder and harder into the delicate skin of her lip. Anything to keep the screaming down inside of her. Daniel brushed the hair back from her face, caressing her skin. Would this be the last time they ever saw each other? Touch each other? She couldn't fathom the idea.

"What's happening, Katherine?" he pleaded, "Are you in trouble? Are you sick? You don't look right."

A tiny sob escaped her, riding a furious wave. "I know," she croaked, "Please, Daniel, you have to go."

"You're ill, aren't you?" Daniel asked, not hearing her. A tear trickled down his cheek, and he didn't bother to wipe it away. "What is it? Please."

Katherine caught his hands in hers and pulled them away from her face with a harsh sigh. Even in this light, he could see the blood seep out of her lip and down her small chin, leaving a dark trail along her white skin. "Daniel," she rasped, "Go home. Forget about me, please. You'll only get hurt if you're around me."

"Why?" he breathed shakily, aghast at the blood on her chin. But his hands were caught tightly in her fists, pressing hard. "Katherine, I love you. Don't leave me."

Daniel's voice broke off as she opened her eyes, releasing a bloody stream down her cheeks. Her eyes were swimming in a red cloud, and though she tried to blink it away, it only ran down her face in streaks. "Oh, God," he croaked, and tried to wrench away from her, but she clamped onto his hands without budging. "Kat . . . oh, fuck, Kat . . what's happening to you?"

It was a struggle to speak, her voice strangled. "Daniel. I love you . . but you have to get away from me. Please."

"Oh, God," he whispered, staring at her, over and over. "Katherine . . . let me get you to the hospital, you're bleeding . ."

Katherine licked the blood off her lips, slowly swallowing it. But it simply kept coming. She didn't think to stop it. "Forget me, Daniel," she whispered, releasing him from her grip, "Get the hell away from me."

When he simply stared at her, dumb with shock, she rolled away from him and clambered to her feet. "Get the fuck away from me, Daniel!" she shouted when he reached after her, and staggered blindly toward the tree line. Sobs bubbled out of her, one after the other, and she swiped harshly at the blood smearing across her face. "I'm sorry, Daniel! Just stay away!!"

Daniel stared after her, crying in hiccupping gasps, as she broke into a run. He didn't follow.

Some mysterious signal woke Lee out of restless dreams early in the evening, after sleeping fitfully through the day. Grunting, he rolled over onto his side to check the digital clock by the bed, only to catch a flash of light in the corner of the room. Lee froze, immediately alert and blinking sleep away, to see two feminine eyes calmly watching him, glowing green like a cat's. It only took a moment for the realization of danger to hit, and Lee whirled over and whipped out the pistol from underneath his pillow. He barely had a chance to aim the weapon before, in a blur of motion, it was snatched from his hand and pointed back at his own head.

"You've been following me," Katherine murmured.

Now wide awake, Lee could make out her shape in the dimness. She was sitting on the edge of the old dresser of Lynn 's, the one she got from her grandmother, her boots propped up on the footboard of the bed. A few curls of hair fell across those feline eyes of hers, and she cocked the pistol as he sat upright in alarm. "Sorry about this," she offered in a smooth, apologetic voice, "But I don't want to get shot anymore than I want to hurt you."

"Bitch!" Lee spat, "Get the fuck out of my house!"

A smile crossed Katherine's lips and she hefted the gun meaningfully, momentarily silencing him. She waited for his attention to focus on the barrel of the pistol and return to her face before continuing. "You know, one of these days you're going to lie down on this thing too hard and blow your brains out."

Lee glowered at her, and kept silent. Surveying the emotions crossing his face, poorly hidden, Katherine nodded and lowered the pistol. He was a smart man, he knew better than to try anything off the cuff. "I just want to talk. I'm not going to hurt you unless you make me."

"Fuck off."

With a pained expression, Katherine leaned back and rested the pistol in her lap, though she kept a good grip on it. She watched him follow this with the intensity of desperation, looking for a way to regain the advantage. "You won't be able to seriously hurt me with this," she reminded him gently, "So don't bother. Just relax. If I wanted to kill you, I'd have done it already. I just want to talk."

"How did you get in here?" Lee demanded.

"You need a better security system," Katherine shrugged, and tried not to smile at the glare this earned her. "Look, Lee, it's me. It's Katherine."

Lee shook his head, wracking his brains for a plan, and tried to avoid looking her in the eyes. They were almost hypnotic, shining faintly in the darkness, with all the cunning and calm of a lioness, but also with the intelligence of the young woman he once knew. Lee thought there was even a hint of sympathy in her expression. "Like shit," he snarled, "The Katherine I knew is dead. You're not human."

"No, I'm not." She put her head to one side, but her expression didn't change.

"Kat wasn't a killer," Lee persisted, "She didn't feed off of human beings."

Wearily nodding, Katherine held up a hand for silence. She couldn't deny a certain thrill at the power she had over him, her longtime friend. All the size and strength he had over her then meant absolutely nothing now. "Tell me," Lee demanded, "What's it like when you feed from one of us? Huh? Tell me you don't enjoy it."

Katherine looked away briefly, her face twisting in pain. But her voice was level when she spoke, turning back to him. "It's excruciating. But it's also very pleasurable, like a drug. That's the worst part, especially knowing how good it feels for them." She sighed. "I can't claim to be the old Katherine. Too much has changed." A sad smile crossed her face. "And I'm not sure anymore whether that was 'the real me'. But Katherine's not all gone, Lee."

"The Katherine I knew would've rather died," Lee growled.

Chuckling dryly, Katherine lifted the gun and turned it to one side, drinking in the gleam of the metal. "Sometimes I wish I could kill myself," she replied evenly, "Lee, you don't understand what it's like. This wasn't my choice . . . I didn't want to be a monster, even if I am one. The vampire who did this to me, he took my whole life away. And I killed him for it."

"Yeah, I fuckin' feel for you," Lee muttered.

"I don't blame you for wanting to kill me," Katherine sighed, "I deserve that, I think. But you don't know how hard you want to hang onto life until it's been taken away from you."

Her eyes snapped back to Lee as he balled the sheets up in his fists, leaning forward. "Don't fucking lecture me about life and death! I've seen the shit on both sides."

3

Stephen quietly slid into the room to find Sung-Li standing over Katherine's bed, running her fingertips over a host of monitors and electronics keeping watch on the young woman's condition. His adopted daughter glanced back at him, smiled once, and returned to checking over the equipment, long black hair swaying against her back.

Katherine remained sleeping, though at least she was stable enough to have been moved out of the clinic's Intensive Care department, such as it was. Stephen found it slightly disturbing that he'd become so accustomed to Kat's appearance as a vampire that her human self, whom he'd held and cherished so long ago, seemed a bit strange. Her hair was no longer the flowing mane of bright red but its old, well-accustomed auburn brown, her skin pale but warm-toned. Her chest rose and fell with her steady breathing.

"How is she?" Stephen murmured, easing over to clasp Katherine's hand. Her skin was warm and soft; he could feel the throb of her pulse.

Sung-Li brushed a sheet of hair behind her ear. "She's still in shock, but she's recovering. Her body's extremely dehydrated and we're having to keep her on intravenous fluids." A slight smile touched the corner of her mouth. "She's also somewhat anemic, so we're having to give her transfusions."

Nodding, Stephen smirked faintly and brushed Katherine's hair back from her cheek. The young woman stirred slightly under his touch, uttering a tiny moan, before lapsing back into unconsciousness. "She's not sedated," Sung-Li offered, anticipating his question, "She's just weak. We shouldn't try to wake her yet."

"Is everything normal?" he inquired instead.

"As far as we can tell," Sung-Li shrugged, "She's a perfectly ordinary human being."

Stephen smiled and caressed the sleeping woman's cheek once more.

"Should we let her remember what happened?" Sung-Li asked gingerly, eyeing her father, "Would she be happier if we took those memories away and let her go home? She's suffered a lot. She deserves a normal life."

Stephen shook his head but didn't look up at her. "This isn't Oz. It wasn't a dream."

"Besides," he added after a moment, giving her hand a squeeze, "She deserves to remember what happened. In the end, she saved herself. We didn't do it for her."

Nodding, Sung-Li cocked her head to one side, studying the curve of the other woman's face. "Do you think she'll Awaken again, into her own nature? Or has her soul been broken already by the Curse?"

"I don't know," Steph admitted tiredly, "In a way, I sort of hope she doesn't. She's been through enough already . . . Chrysalis would turn her world upside down again. She's strong enough to deal with it, and it is her true nature, I guess. But you're right, she deserves some peace."

"We don't know anyone else who's regained their humanity," he added, "So who knows?"

Katherine pulled up outside of Daniel's apartment in her refurbished Mustang and walked around to stand on the sidewalk, looking up at the darkened windows. His car was gone, as well as the little blue Escort Zachary drove, and from the bare windows, without even miniblinds, there was no sign of occupation. The early evening breeze was dying down now that the sun was on the horizon, and the impulse to walk up the stairs and knock hopefully came and went. How many times had she stood out here, laughing and talking with he and their friends? Those lazy summer afternoons, without the hassles of school, when she and Daniel would sit out here on the grass and watch people wandering the university grounds, seemed very remote and dreamlike.

Leaning against the lamppost, Katherine wondered what she was doing here. Even alive and human again as she was, the Katherine whom Daniel loved was long gone, buried in a Denton cemetery, lost to brain cancer without the chance to say goodbye. Or, more truthfully, that Katherine died the night Billy came upon her and ripped away her humanity, making her into the sullen, succulent little predator she'd so recently been. A monster in her lover's eyes, a grey-eyed ghost of herself. Stephen was right, of course, when he said she could never go back again, even if they saved her. This was no fairy tale, this was Wonderland. She couldn't simply reappear to Daniel and expect her old life to resume.

"He moved two months ago," a woman's voice called, low and soft with a British accent.

Katherine turned to see Brooke, walking slowly toward her with her hands clasped behind her back. She was a petite, melancholy figure, her glossy black hair drawn back in waves from her overly pale face, like a china doll. Katherine never thought warm weather to be to Brooke's liking, but she adapted her wardrobe well. The black stretch top she wore, strapless and baring her midriff and pierced navel, somehow went with the velvet jacket and jeans she wore. Shadows of leaves flickered across her in passing, and ember sunlight gleamed on the ornate pocket watch that hung above her breasts.

Katherine studied her with soft green eyes. "What are you doing here, Brooke?"

"Kelly," the younger woman corrected, smiling slightly.

"I thought you preferred Brooke?" Katherine returned.

Kelly shrugged, glancing toward the looming shape of the building rather than face the fading sun, streaking the sky in red and violet. It was already night in the direction of the apartment, which she favored most. Her heels clicked against the cement as she came to join Katherine in surveying the building, side by side. "My dad called me Kelly," she explained lightly, "And so does Stephen." A smirk touched her mouth at an inward thought. "So I guess it's a name I should be proud of."

Katherine's brow furrowed, unsure of how to respond, and the two of them said nothing for a few moments. The air around her smelled of vanilla and other scents, reminding Katherine, with a bit of embarrassment, of her own lack of fragrance. Perfume and colognes too often overpowered her senses as a vampire, and so she'd grown accustomed to going bare. Yet another human habit which had lapsed during her inhumanity. Finally, though, Kelly turned to her with a wry smile, looking her up and down. "You know, you're a lot less imposing as a human being."

Frowning, Katherine glanced over to give her a sour look, but Kelly had already turned back to the building. The placid, emotionally quiet cast of her delicate features burned out Katherine's anger. "What are you doing here?" she asked again, more kindly.

"Stephen asked me to look in on you," Kelly explained, glancing at her with large, tranquil eyes, "I know what you're thinking. Why me and not him? Well, I've no idea, though I imagine he'd like you to make some new friends." She shrugged, returning her attention to the building. "He's quite a mystery sometimes, and certainly a lot more interesting than most men as a result . . . "

Katherine watched her thoughtfully, trying to deduce the thoughts working their way through the young woman's mind. "I heard you have a crush on him," she commented, the end of the sentence curling upwards into a question, but Kelly only smiled and shook her head.

"I did at first," she conceded with a hint of a blush, "Maybe I still do. It's not important."

Cocking her head to one side, Katherine asked, "Why not?"

Kelly half-laughed, half-giggled at the question, and folded her arms under her breasts with a stance of reflection. She said nothing for a long time, searching for an honest answer, and Katherine began to ask another question when she spoke up, her tone sardonic. "I've been and broken up with too many blokes, and too many girls for that matter, to have any understanding of what real love is about. Relationships breeze by me, and none of them last long. I've never known any one person that I couldn't live without, or who could stand me for much longer than a few months."

"So really," she added more solemnly, "I've no idea what you're feeling right now, unless it's anything like what I feel sometimes . . . that lonely feeling I get at night when I wonder how many good things passed me by while I was too busy fucking around. Literally."

"I think you just might understand then," Katherine murmured.

Kelly shook her head slowly, idly toying with the watch at her breast. She was grey and slightly sad now that the sun had fallen, her eyes dark and pained, and she seemed a great deal older. "What you and Daniel had was special, and way beyond my comprehension. I don't blame you for coming here." She paused to take a breath, and returned it with a sigh. "Zachary was too sick to stay, he moved back home to live with his family. And Daniel moved out not long after . . . there was nothing left here for him anymore. He quit school and went back to El Paso ."

Katherine nodded quietly, her heart tired.

An awkward moment passed, and Kelly gave her arm a reassuring squeeze before walking ahead slightly, lost in thought. "I've had quite a few people come and go in my life," she murmured, "I wonder sometimes what it is about me that causes me to look elsewhere, to always be attracted to what I don't have rather than what's in front of me." She chuckled dryly to herself and shook her head, the soft mass of her hair glowing in the lamplight, and lapsed into silence.

"I fell in love with Daniel the moment we met," Katherine offered, trying to fill the heavy silence which fell between the two of them, "He turned my life around . . . I mean, there were other guys before that, but Daniel was just the easiest man to be with. Every moment, every touch, made me feel special. I'd never felt anything like it, and I never wanted to let it get away from me. He made me feel more alive than I'd ever been before . . ."

Katherine's voice trailed off as she saw Kelly regarding her with plaintive eyes, her face a little white oval at the edge of the light. "I don't know why I came here," Katherine sighed, sliding her hands into the back pockets of her jeans and gazing up at the empty windows of Daniel's apartment.

"To regret," Kelly smiled languidly, "To think what you could have done differently." She shook her head and spun on a heel, walking slowly back toward the other woman. "What everyone does when they've lost someone or something special to them. Don't down yourself for it, it's natural."

Katherine shook her head, hair stroking her cheeks in waves on each side of her face, and said nothing. A solemn smile graced Kelly's mouth as she walked back into the circle of light from the streetlamp, clasping the woman's hands. "You and Daniel loved each other, you'll always have that time together. And you've got your life, Katherine, so be grateful. There's plenty of time to find yourself again."

Managing a halfhearted smile, Katherine looked away. Kelly swung around her in an arc, tugging her away from the building and towards the car, earning a questioning look from Katherine. "Come on," Kelly smiled, "Let's get out of here. I'll buy you a drink."

Hours later, Katherine emerged from the Shamrock downtown and walked wearily down the street alone, thinking of the curious young woman nursing a cigarette inside and what she'd said. She arched her back, stretching her arms out behind her, trying to work the soreness of exhaustion out of her limbs. Katherine had forgotten all the normal aches and pains that came with a living body, the dull pain in her calves and feet from walking in these shoes. Hoping to check the time, she glanced at her bare wrist and frowned. No need to worry about time as a vampire either, when instinct always told you how much nighttime you had left.

She passed largely unnoticed as she walked back to her car, attracting only the occasional appreciative glance from a young man or a tired look from an office worker barely getting off the job after a late evening. Just an ordinary young woman out for the evening, hardly worth noticing. Katherine paused only to glance skywards at the monolithic tower where Debra Hunt, Prince of Fort Worth, resided amidst glass and metal. Repairs were complete, she noticed. There was little trace of the damage Katherine had caused months ago, which earned her exile from the city. And while the human being Katherine was no longer under the domain of the Kindred Prince, Hunt's curiosity about her resurrection was cause enough for concern.

Katherine realized that she was walking the city as the vampire had, invincible and immune to - if not especially asking for - the fear that everyday danger offered. She crossed streets with absent-minded disinterest in how clear they were, or of traffic signals and street signs, her mind fixated on her own inner world and preoccupations. Certainly not the safest way to handle herself now, but more than once she caught herself eyeing the young men who crossed her path, with the cool appraisal of the hunt, which was far more unnerving. Katherine slowed to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk outside the Coffeehaus, pressed her fists to her head, and silently willed herself to stop thinking that way.

After a few minutes, Katherine regained her bearings and walked on. She'd long since passed the parking garage where she'd left her car, forcing her to loop back around. Despite the time and the faint haze of alcohol, Katherine forced herself to pay attention again, to look at the faces and locations of people around her, the walk and don't walk signs, everything. But the inhuman eyes of the vampires outside of Hunt's office preyed on her mind. Much like Andrew's the night he visited her in the hospital, when she realized, curiously without shock or horror, how vampires appeared to human beings. How she'd appeared to human beings. Graceful, the movements too precise, the eyes hungry and cold.

Katherine froze in half-step, alert to something, and looked around.

And then she was jerked into an alleyway by an impossibly strong grip, whirled around and slammed against a brick wall, blasting the breath out of her lungs before she could even cry out. In an instant, a male figure was pressed close against her, one hand clamped tight over her mouth. He was lean and hungry looking, dark hair sweeping across his forehead and cobalt blue eyes staring down at her with a vicious grin that bared teeth. Panic lanced through Katherine's insides at the sight. "Hello there," he whispered at a growl, "Just like old times, huh?"

Katherine stared at him with a mixture of shock and fury, but knew better than to struggle underneath the vampire's grip. He noted her control and nodded, flashing another one of those devilish grins before relaxing into a smug smile. "You know better. Good. You're probably the first human being in fifty-seven years to not fight." He vehemently emphasized the word fight, laughing under his breath. "Not that there isn't some value in the struggle. You, more than any mortal on this planet, should know how enjoyable it can be."

She glared at the vampire, but he only smiled and tightened his hold. His eyes flicked over her appraisingly before he leaned in to inhale the scent of her warm body, the panicky sweat rising on her skin. And then, after a moment's thought, he ran a coarse, dry tongue over her neck and chuckled as Katherine tensed, trying to push away from him. "So you're the pretty little vampire who came back to life," he mused, "You certainly taste perfectly human. Tell me, what's it like to be vulnerable again, to know you gave up immortality over trivial human concerns?"

The vampire slid in closer to press his forehead to hers, his hair tickling as it brushed against her skin. "You looked so sad walking down the street. Lonely, helpless, with your human life in pieces around your feet. Maybe you'd like to come back to us." He lowered his voice, becoming soft and ever so gentle. "I can give it back to you. Because as you are right now, you're nothing more than food. You know that. What ties do you have to humanity anyway? What is there for you here? A lover who's long gone?"

Katherine tilted her head back, pressing it into the rough brick of the wall, trying to escape his dead blue stare. Instead, he dragged his lower lip across her forehead and down to her ear. The breath of his words was cool and dry. "You don't belong amongst the faceless, thronging sheep out there," he whispered, "You stood up to the Justicar and the mewling, pathetic assembly of the Camarilla. You're one of us. You think like one of us. You can be so much more."

"Maybe," the vampire murmured, "You need a reminder of what mortality is like."

Planting her foot against the wall, Katherine tried to kick off and away from him, but he caught her in a casual grip and threw her back onto the wall. A cry escaped her as she bit her lip and winced as she tried to catch her breath. "Maybe I haven't made myself clear," the vampire growled, bashing her against the wall again. His fingers clamped into the delicate skin of her cheeks and mouth, to the point that she thought he might crack bone, and Katherine squirmed futilely against him. "Billy might have made you out of spite, but you can not walk away from us."

A splash of blue-white fire flashed through the alleyway, catching the vampire in the back and side. He whirled off of Katherine with a roar of pain and rage, with a long gash of charred flesh and cloth along his side. Katherine caught the odor of the acrid, oily-looking smoke coming off the vampire's body before a series of pistol rounds struck him in the chest, knocking him to the ground.

"The one thing I hate about this town," Kelly mumbled, "Are the bloody vampires."

The vampire twitched on the ground as Katherine's knees buckled, sending her sliding down the wall. Kelly fired a few more rounds into the body from her little Glock 17 before hurrying over to drag the older woman back to her feet. "Come on, love," she grunted, hurriedly leading Katherine down the alley, "I don't want to have to explain this to the police."

Katherine wandered into her back offices, closing the double doors on the murmur of voices behind her. Here was peace and quiet, the dimness of the study with its book shelves and liquor cabinet she'd never touched, the plush chairs and leather sofa, the soft light coming off a lamp in the corner. Whether it was the trauma of the change or that she'd become accustomed to the strength that the Curse gave, Katherine felt weak and tremendously fragile now that she mortal again. Lying in a hospital bed for a week had given her a false sense of strength. Lights were still too bright, sounds a bit too loud, and she was already tired at 2pm in the afternoon.

But, she reminded herself, at least she was alive and awake at 2pm .

After nine months as a vampire - a mercifully short length of time compared to Andrew or Angelo or many others - it was hard to adjust back to the daytime world. Katherine thought back to her first glimpse of blue sky and sunshine after so many nights, and the panic she felt as she squinted into the blurring, overly bright light. The fear of dying in a blaze of disintegrating limbs. But nothing happened, of course. She just walked out into the parking lot on shaky legs, supported by Karl and Stephen's strong grips, shaken by her own alienation from normal life.

And then there was food. Eating came instinctively to sate the ravenous hunger for real food, but Katherine had nearly forgotten the tastes and sensations that came with it. She felt clumsy using knives and forks and cups again, like a dim-witted child learning to feed herself. Katherine remembered the wry, slightly pained look on Stephen's face when they first offered her food in the hospital and she could only stare at it.

The worst was that nothing she ate compared to the experience of drinking blood.

She also found herself awkwardly stumbling back into social relationships again. There was muted concern and welcome from Jonathan and the others when she came home from the hospital, so accustomed were they to the lack of response or emotion from her. No one knew what to think when their aloof and unsociable employer came around to give everybody hugs, or when Katherine laughed, or when she broke down in tears. It took a few uncomfortable days for everyone to get used to this new her, the old her. The smiling, soft-spoken Katherine.

Karen spent the most time with her, trying to coax her back into humanity. And no doubt trying to draw her back to her fae nature, if it was even possible to do so. Katherine was too distracted by the shock of ordinary life, and the pain of knowing just how far she'd slipped from herself since Billy took her. She cried a lot. The blurry, half-remembered faces of those Katherine killed and fed upon haunted her in moments of silence and joy. Daniel's terrified eyes when she revealed herself to him. The taste of Stephen's blood in her mouth. Escaping these feelings was like flexing muscles she hadn't used in a long time, trying to break out of the vampire's thought process.

There came a knock at the door, and Katherine turned as Karen poked her head in. With her blonde hair swept back from her face, she looked icy and rather appropriately fey. Katherine wondered if she looked much the same way to other people. "I got your soup," Karen smiled, holding aloft a ceramic cup painted blue and green, "Where do you want it?"

"I'll take it," Katherine murmured, taking the cup from the other woman.

"You okay?" Karen inquired gently, "Do you need anything else?"

Katherine shook her head slightly with a weak smile, curling her fingers around the warmth of the cup. The heady aroma of the soup tickled her nose. The sensation momentarily jarred her from this time and place, back to Stephen's kitchen, his tender touch. And delicious soup she couldn't eat. "I'm fine, Karen . . . "

"Gwyn," the blonde reminded her, "Call me Gwyn."

Katherine smirked, but let it go. Did she hope familiarity with her fae name would reawaken that part of her? "Gwyn. I'm just tired, I was going to lie down for a little bit and get my strength back."

"Okay. Yell if you need anything."

Smiling softly, Katherine stood in the middle of the room for a long while after Karen left, warming her hands on the soup mug and drinking in its aroma. It had already begun cooling by the time she realized there was a spoon, too. Chagrined, Katherine walked toward one of the bookcases, sipping lightly of the soup. Minestrone, her favorite. Its warmth filled her, softening her senses. Katherine's fingertips trailed over the spines of the books, and she closed her eyes as she listened to the raspy sound. Like whispering.

Click. Something cold pressed against the back of her neck. "Don't move."

Jerking in surprise, Katherine gripped the bookshelf, her eyes rolling about as she tried to see the other person. The gun barrel nudged emphatically into the soft skin at the back of her neck. "Okay," she whispered, freezing in place, "I'm not moving."

The lip of the barrel scraped slowly over her neck before pulling away entirely, and Katherine heard someone step back behind her. Her fingers clutched onto the smooth wood of the shelf as she listened, trembling at the uncertainty of what the man was doing. Not for the first time, she missed the preternatural sharpness of vampire senses. "Turn around. Back against the bookcase," the voice said flatly, "Slow."

Holding her breath, Katherine carefully turned in place, flattening her back against the sharp corner of the bookcase. A familiar black man stood before her, about a yard away, leveling some sort of machine pistol with a silencer at her. Her fear really kicked in at the sight of the weapon. At this range an ordinary young woman - like herself - couldn't hope to survive. "Lee," Katherine stammered, "What are you doing?"

His eyes were cold, and he lifted the gun toward her head to silence her. "This thing's loaded with dragonfire rounds. It'll blow your fucking head off and burn whatever's left of you. So don't you fuck with me."

Katherine's mouth worked dumbly in shock for a moment before anything came out. "Lee, it's me," she murmured, her voice wavering, "It's Katherine."

"Katherine Ducote," Lee muttered grimly, "Nice job, bitch. Only you and Elvis have successfully faked your own deaths. Must've been a good funeral. Even Timothy cried. Fucking stupid, though, staying in the area. Did you think we wouldn't find you eventually?"

Biting her lip, Katherine winced as she looked down the barrel of the machine pistol, and whispered, "What do you want?"

"I want a fucking explanation," Lee growled.

"So you put a gun to my head?" Katherine protested.

Lee edged slightly closer with a twisted grimace, baring his teeth, and pressed the gun barrel against her forehead. Katherine sucked in a breath and squeezed her eyes shut. "Yeah, I'm putting a gun to your head. I know what you are, bitch. I saw you feed."

The young woman blanched, not daring to open her eyes.

"About a month ago," Lee explained, "At that club on Fry Street . Leopold's. You fed from that guy's throat and left him there, high like you gave him a blow job. You didn't think anybody was watching. But I saw the blood on your teeth." He jabbed her with the gun. "So don't fucking pretend you're a human being. I know what you are."

"Lee," Katherine shuddered, "Look at me . . . I'm as human as you are . . ."

He forced her head back with the gun, eliciting a weak cry of pain as Katherine struck the corner of the bookcase. A tear trickled down her cheek. "Gee," Lee remarked sarcastically, "I guess I was mistaken. It must've been your freakin' evil twin, huh?"

"Please don't hurt me," she whispered, "Please, Lee . . . "

He grunted. "Tell me, how many people've you fed off of? How many'd you kill?"

"Lee, look at me," Katherine croaked, "I'm breathing . . . my heart's beating . . . and for God's sake, it's daytime . . . "

"Then explain," Lee hissed.

There came a quick knock at the door, which swiftly opened as Karen returned. Tensing, Katherine opened her eyes, wild and panicking, and Lee froze with the gun pressed tight to her forehead. Karen stopped half-way through the door and whatever she was saying died in her throat when she saw the two of them. She and Lee blinked at each other for a moment before he uncertainly turned the weapon toward her. Eyes widening, Karen muttered "fuck" under her breath, pulling back behind the door. "Come in," Lee growled, "Nice and slow."

Then Katherine splashed steaming Minestrone into his face.

Karen dove back out the door as Lee, shouting in pain, squeezed off a burst from the machine gun in a sweep across that side of the room. Fortunately, the dragonfire rounds were a lie, and the bullets didn't penetrate the double doors, reinforced as they were by a solid layer of steel. For once, Katherine was glad for vampire paranoia, and Andrew's security suggestions.

Katherine threw herself to the right and into her office, stumbling as she closed and locked the door behind her. Furious and half-blind, Lee shouted a tirade of profanities and took a moment to secure the double doors behind Karen, delaying further intrusions. Katherine used the time to dive behind her desk, shoving her chair aside, and lift up the rug there to find the trapdoor to the cellar. She even managed to lug the heavy thing open before Lee let loose with a barrage against the office door, to no avail.

"Bitch!" Lee's muffled voice. "What's with these fucking doors?!"

Shakily, Katherine slid into the hole, groping blindly with her feet before catching onto the ladder and easing down. Lee was already kicking at the office door, with somewhat more success, as she closed and barred the trapdoor above her. Unfortunately, this left her in complete darkness. The vampire had designed this route; it wasn't intended to accommodate the frailties of human beings. Quite the contrary. It was at least a six foot drop in the dark from the end of the ladder to the cement floor below, but Katherine didn't have any other options. She heard Lee bash his way through the office door above, and took the fall.

Katherine cried out as she clattered to the floor, landing hard on her left shoulder. Clenching her teeth to hold back tears, she clutched onto her arm as pain washed up and down her side. Upstairs, Lee shouted curses as he found the office empty and hunted for her escape route. The sound of him kicking the barred, reinforced and fireproof trapdoor spurred her back to her feet. Cradling her arm, Katherine stumbled toward the nearest wall and began following it to where the tunnel leading outside should be, if her memory was accurate. The muffled sound of automatic weapon fire quickened her steps.

The noise receded as Katherine swung into the narrow tunnel leading away from White Rabbit a short distance. After a few minutes, she saw diffuse sunlight coming in at the end of the tunnel from a metal grill in the ceiling, and hurried over. The ceiling was lower here and the ladder was within easy reach, even if her shoulder hurt like hell as she pulled herself up and unbarred the grill.

Hauling herself out of the hole, Katherine winced at the glare of the overcast sky and rolled over into the tall grass surrounding it. Sirens announced the arrival of the Denton PD, but she didn't lift her head to see. She just lay there, draping her right arm over her eyes to block the light, and caught her breath. The breeze was warm and soothing, carrying away the noise of the commotion at the roadhouse.

Katherine lifted her head again when she heard someone approaching through the brush. It was a young, rather tall Hispanic man in dark clothing, with long hair falling about his face. He smirked as he saw her, flipping the hair out of his eyes. "Holà, señora. You do not look like a vampire to me."

Startled, Katherine stared at him in a daze. "Pardon?"

The man smiled and waved this off, then gestured to her shoulder, which was already turning brownish and swollen against her pale skin. "Never mind . . . That's a nasty bruise you have there. Do you need a hand?"

"Yes," Katherine nodded, "Thank you."

Shaking his head, the man took her hands and helped Katherine to her feet. As he did so, she caught a glimpse of what looked like a pistol tucked into the waistband of his jeans, under his jacket. "Not at all. It's not everyday that one sees a pretty woman climbing out of the ground. I take it you are escaping the chaos back there?" He nodded toward the assembly of police cars in the White Rabbit parking lot.

Brushing her hair back, Katherine nodded and eyed the man uncertainly.

"Then I am very glad to see that you are alright," he smiled, "I was . . walking to my car when I heard shots being fired, and everybody came running out. I saw you from over there and thought you could use some help." Something between a grin and a scowl crossed his face. "I certainly hope whoever did this gets what's coming to him . . . "

"What's your name?" she inquired, stepping away from him. In the distance, Katherine noticed a woman with straight black hair in similar dark clothing and sunglasses observing their conversation from the parking lot. But the man performed a little bow, regaining her attention. "Benito Jose Aguirre," he replied, "Come on, there's an ambulance over there. We'll have you checked out."

"Have they caught him?" Katherine asked, not moving.

Frowning, Benito answered, "I've no idea. We will find out soon enough."

7

To others, they must've been quite a sight: two lovely young women in their prime, walking side by side down the sidewalk amidst a flutter of falling gold and ginger leaves, their hair trailing out behind them in the crisp breeze, talking quietly and laughing to themselves, seemingly oblivious to the world around them. The woman on the left was in her mid-twenties with a quiet, Catholic schoolgirl cast to her features. Curly, dark auburn hair fell to the middle of her back, and she dressed in a grey felt jacket, a violet stretch top, black jeans, soft leather boots and gloves, with a winding scarf fluttering in her wake. The woman on the right was in her early thirties, with a puckish smile belying her sage demeanor. She wore her white blonde hair short and swept to one side, bangs occasionally sweeping across clear blue eyes, and dressed in an aviator jacket, a low-cut sweater, blue jeans and brown loafers.

"We did what?" the red-haired woman laughed, glancing over in disbelief at her cousin, who - despite their differences in style and appearance - might as well have been her older sister. It was a welcome laugh, too, soft and warm, which only time and close companionship had restored to her. With the rich colors of her hair, her green eyes, her clothing, she seemed to belong to the Autumn world around them, a walking and talking embodiment of it. As well she should. Katherine's mood and styles changed with the seasons, reflecting the world's cycles in her own way, though the Fall was always her favorite time of the year. Karen had never tasted the promise of change so strongly in the air as she did then; it had definitely been a long time coming. She grinned back at her cousin with thoughtful eyes, waiting patiently as always.

"The three of you made a wager for this guy's love," Karen explained mildly, telling the story as it had once been told to her, "The woman who seduced the most men in the village would win Jon Erikson's . . . well, I wouldn't call it his heart, but would win his body at least. Of course, you were convinced you were in love with him, but you always thought that when you found someone new who caught your fancy. You were still pretty young and naïve at the time. You blushed in embarrassment the whole time you told me the story . . . "

"I find that hard to believe," Katherine remarked lightly, seemingly ashamed, but didn't argue it further. Karen took some hope in this. Whether through self-loathing or disbelief, Kat had long distanced herself from her "alter ego", and it was nice to see her growing back into it. A few years ago, when the young woman's life had been shattered and her true nature stolen from her, Karen feared with terrible certainty that this moment would never come. But even now, she could feel the wheel turning - though Karen took care not to rush matters, moving far more cautiously than she had last time, afraid of driving the young woman away again. Over the past year, accompanying Karen on her jaunts around the globe to shoot fashion models, desert wildlife and villages no one included on maps, Katherine had fallen deeper into her old identity under Karen's gentle nudging.

"I know you like the whole melancholy romantic thing," Karen teased, brushing blonde bangs out of her eyes, "But you're not all that serious by nature . . . I can't tell you how many times I've died laughing from your stories." She laughed as Katherine grimaced sulkily, tossing her head, then stuck her tongue out at her. "But anyway," Karen giggled, "You weren't about to let the others steal - " Karen made quotes with her fingers. " - 'the love of your life', and you were a professional seductress by that point. So within a few months you'd had pretty much every man in the village. And lost interest in poor Jon in the process."

"So Lanth was right," Katherine sighed in mock irritation, her green eyes shining playfully, "I was a nymphomaniac."

Stepping around a drift of fallen leaves, Karen grinned. "Just a little, honey. But hey, you've been a lot of things over the centuries. You loved life and you loved people . . . Something which Lanthinel has never properly appreciated, in my opinion. Duty, honor and authority were always much more important to him. That's why he left while you chose to stay in this world." The blonde paused for dramatic effect. "Though a lot of us were really relieved when you finally matured past the whole nympho thing . . . "

"Bite me," Katherine smirked, with a girlish cock of her head.

Karen chuckled but said nothing, glancing away to look down the length of the street, lined by brilliantly colored maples and beeches which obscured the homes and businesses around them and softened the view. The cool air was sweet from recent rains, and after a leisurely stay in Egypt , it was like a cold drink after a long, hot day. She knew it quietly delighted Katherine, rousing her from the languid pace of the past few months. This had always been her time of year. Still, it felt so strange for Karen to be the elder and teacher, when Ariel had always taken on that role for her. Especially in those long, dark years before and after the Shattering, when love and suffering conspired to age her cousin and harden her heart. Having already failed Katherine once, Karen took this newfound responsibility very seriously.

I'm just not cut out for this Obi-Wan Kenobi shit, she sighed inwardly.

"So why Maine anyway?" Karen asked aloud, glancing back over at her cousin.

Katherine shrugged slightly, sliding her hands into the voluminous pockets of her jacket. She looked surprisingly young for all that had happened over the years, almost like a college kid again, with only the faintest of lines around her mouth and eyes. But the shadow in her eyes spoke to all the ugliness she had seen - and done. Karen knew she appreciated the opportunity to let someone care for her, the way Daniel and even Stephen had, while she tried to sort herself out again. It allowed her to be young. "I've no idea, really," Katherine replied in a preoccupied voice, "She was apparently coming through here on her way home, and she wanted to see where all the Stephen King books were set." She gave Karen a sidelong glance, flirting with a smile.

"Strange girl," Karen observed.

"Definitely," Katherine agreed.

"She looks out for you, you know," Karen murmured lightly, studying the other woman. Wondering at the flitter of distracted thoughts across her eyes. Katherine had been more than a little distant recently, at least more so than usual, which was no surprise. But she wouldn't intrude upon the young woman's privacy until she was ready to share. Why risk snuffing out the flame when it was just beginning to smolder? "Underneath all the goth crap and moodiness, she seems really sweet . . . "

A faint smile touched Katherine's mouth as she met the blonde's gaze, a wave of curly hair spilling over her shoulder. Was it darker than normal? Karen thought it had begun to bleach out in the desert, going toward a light auburn, but it was shifted toward a deep, cinnamon color now to match the leaves and colors around them. A good sign, hopefully. "I guess she is, in her own weird way," Katherine allowed in a quiet voice, "Steph sent her to check on me, early on. Neither of us ever really figured out why. I guess he didn't want to hurt me somehow, because of my feelings for him. Having my life back didn't fix that problem, after all . . . And it's something Kelly and I have in common, so I suppose he thought I could use a big sister or something . . . "

"You did," Karen smiled gently, "Though I think he did it just as much for her as he did for you. The two of you had a lot of the same problems . . . "

"I suppose so," Katherine nodded, watching the leaves skitter across the concrete and over their feet. Slowing, she paused outside of a small, two-story brick home and - pausing to take in the splash of Autumn colors that was the front lawn - leaned against the weathered black iron fencing which lined the walkway. Karen drifted to a stop and turned to face her, lifting her eyebrows in curiosity. Katherine flashed her a reassuring smile, her voice a low, slightly hesitant murmur. "Gwyn, I need to tell you something . . . "

Karen cocked her head with a patient smile and waited.

Frowning thoughtfully, Katherine puzzled over finding the right words, her long, slender fingers toying with the length of the scarf. Karen found little habits like that heartening. Despite the reshuffling of the young woman's personality following her death and resurrection, many of Kat's old behaviors and quirks remained relatively intact. She'd even gained a few new ones, though not all of them were so innocent. Still, whatever scars remained, it was a welcome sign of renewed life in her, even if those wounds forced Katherine down paths she otherwise would never have taken. And she was coming out stronger for it.

Katherine took a deep breath and released it slowly, refocusing on her cousin. "I've been hearing music in my head," she confessed.

Karen's brow furrowed in momentary surprise. "What kind of music?"

"I'm not sure," Katherine replied faintly, putting her head to one side as if listening for it again, "It sounds like a lyre and a flute, or something similar, but I don't know the song or the melody . . . It comes and goes a lot. Sometimes I can barely hear it, and sometimes it's so loud in my head that I can't hear anything else. When it gets like that, I feel like I'm about to pass out or something."

Karen nodded, rubbing the girl's shoulder sympathetically. "How long?"

"About a month," Katherine said.

Clucking her tongue, Karen sighed. "You should've told me sooner, honey."

"I didn't know what was happening at first," Katherine countered lightly, shaking her head, "The first few times, it was very quiet, like I was hearing it from a distance, and it didn't last very long. I'd just catch snatches of it occasionally. I thought maybe I was hearing music from down the street or that it was just my imagination or something." She frowned, running a finger through her hair to brush it out back from her face. "But it's been happening more and more often lately, and getting louder, too."

"When does it happen?" Karen asked softly.

Shrugging, Katherine glanced away from her cousin, scanning the length of the street from which they'd come. A young man in a blue sweater and jeans emerged from a small business down the block, walking with the brisk urgency of someone on the clock. They could hear the jingle of his keys as he shook them thoughtfully in one hand, and a small smile crossed Katherine's expression. With his dark hair and lean frame, it could've been Daniel. "I don't know if there's a pattern to it," she murmured solemnly, turning back to meet Karen's gaze with her wide, dark green eyes, "Sometimes I'll hear it in the morning when I wake up, and it's woken me up in the middle of the night a few times. It comes up at odd moments, but not that often during the day. Or if it does, it's very faint . . . "

Karen nodded, brushing a thumb against her lip in a thoughtful gesture. The look in Katherine's eyes wasn't fear or confusion, no fear of going mad. She had learned enough about herself and faerie-kind over the years to put the experience in context and approach it semi-rationally. But Kat couldn't conceal her anxiety. Karen had never been able to satisfactorily explain what chrysalis was like, especially when it came down to the strange synthesis of personality and consciousness that came with awakening to one's past and true nature. It was something which the young woman had been pursuing even as a vampire, but it was hard not to think of it as losing yourself and your individual identity to someone else. And Katherine had only just pieced together an identity she could call her own again.

Karen knew the young woman had already assumed chrysalis to be the origin and meaning of this haunting music of hers, and she wouldn't argue the point. She felt that Katherine's guess was probably right for one thing, and there was no other easy explanation available to counter with short of outright paranoia. Unfortunately, if Ariel had ever experienced a similar awakening some time back in the yawning past, neither of them remembered it. The mists and the constant juggling of identity which their kind lived with conspired to blot out large tracts of knowledge. Sighing, Karen favored her cousin with a quiet smile of reassurance. "Well, short of schizophrenia - which you know plenty about - or the involvement of some outside force, I'm pretty sure you have a good idea what it means."

Katherine slid up over Stephen's body, sending a warm shiver through the young man, and proceeded to kiss and nibble at his throat. Long, dark brown hair swept down around her face as she hung over him, fragrant with honeysuckle, ivies and oak. Stephen tilted his head back with a moan as she sucked gently on the flesh of his throat. His hands ran down her sides, coming to rest on her hips. She responded by pressing the mound of her sex against his crotch. "Katherine," he whispered, twisting underneath her, "Katherine, stop . . . "

"Why?" she whispered back.

Stephen held her head in both hands, lifting her off of him slightly. Katherine stared down at him with perplexed, warm green eyes. She smelled delicious, and he had to push off the arousal the soft crush of her body caused to think clearly. "What are you doing?" he asked, stroking her cheek with his thumb. "What happened to you?"

Katherine cocked her head and regarded him with a curious smile. He winced at his own hardness as she lowered herself onto him, straddling his hips with her legs. Katherine was teasing him, Stephen realized distantly, which she'd never done before. That earnest vulnerability of hers, even as a vampire, had shifted into a dangerous passion. "I'm alive," she explained lightly, running her fingers through his hair. "I'm back."

Stephen stared up into her eyes, searching her soul. "Ariel?"

Her lips parted with a sigh and crooked into a wry smile. "Hello."

Stephen couldn't entirely hide his shock. His eyes flashed over her, studying the familiar shape of her body, so suddenly strange. Katherine had never dressed or acted like this, even in the little fantasies that crossed his mind occasionally over the years. And then she came down, her hair curtaining on either side of their faces, and caught his mouth in a slow, deep kiss. The hot, sweet taste of the woman's mouth filled him, sending a riot of confused, conflicting emotions through his mind. This was wrong. This was a mistake. But every sense he had was alight with pleasure.

"Ariel," Stephen breathed once they parted, holding her away a bit. "Stop."

"But you enjoy it," she smiled. Her voice was quietly sensual. "I know you do."

"Yes," Stephen countered shortly, "Yes, I do. But it's a mistake."

Ariel ground herself into his hardness as she sank down upon him, kissing his stubbly chin and warm lips. He started to say her name, but the word trailed off, rising in pitch. "I have loved you for a long time," she whispered, "I've loved you from afar, and I loved you even with the last of my soul as a vampire. My heart has always belonged to you. I swore it to you so long ago, when everything changed."

"The Oath of Truehearts," Stephen murmured.

Ariel sighed. He shuddered as hot breath poured over his throat. "You remember."

"Yes," Stephen conceded softly, closing his eyes. "I've known about it for a long time. I didn't mention it before because you couldn't remember, and I didn't want to hurt you." Releasing a tired breath, he ran his hands back through the mass of her hair. "It wouldn't have changed anything then, and it doesn't now. I'm not Nicholas. And even though it's still me, I guess, I'm married . . . We can't change that, I told you before."

"I did remember," Ariel corrected him in a delicate voice, her lips brushing his skin. "I dreamed it in bits and pieces, with your help. And even if we're not the same people we were then, I've loved you in this life as well. And I know you've loved me. Things haven't changed all that much."

Stephen groaned deep in the back of his throat, warring between the different sides of himself. Ariel eased back up as he cupped her cheeks, guiding her to where he could look the young woman in the eyes. Not that he could really call her young. The fire of three thousand years of history lurked behind her youthful eyes, half-remembered but an inseparable part of her. "Is Kat still in there?" he whispered gently, "Tell me."

A flash of pain crossed her features. "Yes. We're the same."

"Well, then you know we can't do this," Stephen insisted in a faint voice, "I love you, but I belong to Jolie. I swore an oath to her, too."

"I know how I feel," Ariel countered, hurt. "I've ached for you for six hundred and fifty-five years."

"And for half of Katherine's life, too, " Stephen sighed, "I know."

Sitting up straight, Ariel rode atop Stephen's prone form and studied him intently. Her whole look had changed. Katherine's warmly feminine style of dress was supplanted by a softly erotic, fey appearance. The shape of her mouth, eyes and body hadn't changed, but she seemed like a very different person all the same. "Ariel," Stephen murmured, "Remember what Oludamir said? You've changed; Katherine's changed you."

"And I know better," she finished his sentence, wistful.

"I'm sorry," Stephen offered, "I do care about you."

Closing her eyes, Ariel slid off of Stephen. Her boots hit the floor with a soft thud, and she walked away a bit, combing her hair back with her fingers. Stephen took the opportunity to catch his breath and sat up. She seemed to be arguing with herself internally, which he took to be a good sign. It was an old habit of Katherine's. Twinges of desire still rippled through him as he watched her, which he forced down as much as possible.

Stephen climbed off the bed. The young woman stirred as he lay his hands on her bare shoulders, rubbing gently, and she turned around. Her closeness was almost challenging. Even as a vampire, Katherine never held this close to anyone, face-to-face. Stephen could make out all the fine details in her features. The wispy strands at her hairline, the silent mystery of her eyes, the texture of her lips. "You're different," Stephen observed, "You're not afraid anymore. Are you?"

Ariel shook her head almost imperceptibly. Then, as if for emphasis, she kissed him. More delicately this time, running her tongue over his lips before tugging gently at his mouth. Her breasts flattened against his chest as she pressed into him, her hands sliding over his sides. Despite himself, Stephen relented and met the kiss in full. He broke off only when he felt himself falling into her, rising desire and fleeting memories burning together. "I've been afraid too long," she whispered with a smile, "And I know what I want."

"You can't change my mind this way," Stephen warned her.

"I don't have to," she replied lightly and stepped away.

Stephen eyed her uncertainly. Ariel merely walked back to the bed and sat down, propping herself up with both arms. Her unhurried, graceful movements and casually inviting pose pricked at Stephen's insides. She saw his expression and sought to explain. "This life has done more for me than the past three thousand years. You get surprisingly accustomed to immortality as a faerie, and despite whatever might be said about our fickle nature; you tend to get trapped in your own history. You change very little after a while."

"It's strange hearing you talk like that," Stephen murmured, brushing his hair back.

"I took things for granted for a long time," Ariel continued with a faint grin, "The Sidhe say we've got perspective, but honestly we don't. Sure, we see things change, but we tend to stay the same. We've got too much time on our hands. It wasn't until I met you in the Shattering that my doubts and emptiness came into focus. You conviction, your kindness . . . I fell in love with you almost despite myself."

Stephen sighed. "Ariel . . . "

Her lips drew into a smile and she dropped her head back to look at the ceiling, hair sweeping across her shoulders. Stephen traced the contours of her body. Ariel's laugh was low and melodic. "I know, it was a long time ago. But I can't believe how much we're still the same."

Stephen ran a hand over his face and walked to the bed. Looking down at her, open and inviting as she stretched out, he was struck by the urge to take her. Ariel sensed this and tilted her chin down, resting it against her breastbone. Her eyes shone brightly. "I'm not the same," Stephen quietly reminded her, "Even from life to life, you're still Ariel. But I'm not Nicholas." His hands slid into the pockets of his jeans. "I love you like I loved Katherine. But we missed our chance."

Ariel nodded and smiled.

"Where've you been?" Stephen asked with a touch of concern, "When did this happen?"

Grinning, Ariel put her head to one side. A hint of her true age was evident even in her eyes, even with this girlish gesture. "I've been exploring this twenty-first century of yours. It's a lot different from the last time I was here." She chuckled softly. "It's hard to explain the feeling. I remember everything as Katherine, but it's strange at the same time."

Stephen nodded. He thought he understood the feeling. "When was 'last time'?"

"The last thing I remember clearly is the United States invading Italy ," Ariel chuckled faintly at the recollection, "In the fall. 1943, I think. I was Elisa then . . . you have my photograph here somewhere, that you showed me last year. I was about thirty-eight years old and my daughter, Leigh, was turning thirteen." A melancholy smile touched her lips. "She died in 1996 from a stroke. Sixty-six years old."

"I'm sorry," Stephen murmured, but Ariel just shook her head.

Stephen sat down beside her. "What happened in 1943?"

"I died in a car accident," Ariel shrugged, "Automobile safety has come a long way since; we didn't have seat belts or air bags back then." She paused and looked over at Stephen with dreamy eyes. "I was starting to fall back asleep by then. I had a teenage daughter to raise and things were hard with the war. Still, I regret not being there for her . . . "

I still like to wander the streets at night.

Not that long ago, I thought it would be a habit I’d grow out of, this aimless roaming. But it’s the silence that lets me think the clearest, and by now isolation is more than second nature. There’s none of the desperation involved in earlier walks, drifting through the world like a shadow. You could say I’ve become comfortable in my own skin - not that it’s my own skin, really. It should’ve broken my heart. It certainly broke Stephen’s, already wounded by the loss of Kelly. But strangely, all the wind has gone out of my sails, leaving me in the calm of the storm, untouched by the tragedies around me. No great passion stirs me, not even bitterness. You can rage at the world for a certain amount of killing, rationalize it, shape it into something redemptive. But after a while, the awful truth forces itself into your mind: You’re willing to kill and keep killing to stay alive. And the will to survive is greater than morality. You can’t legitimately despair or seek forgiveness when you realize that. Stalin’s maxim arises: A single death is a tragedy, a million deaths is a statistic. The world moves on.

I have the lost the battle for my soul. I gladly concede defeat.

Right now I’m walking through the neighborhood I grew up in. It’s a decaying slum, but I imagine I don’t look too out of place. My hair is a ratty tangle, pulled back behind me with rubber bands. I haven’t changed clothes since I left Diego’s villa, almost six months ago. The old monster’s bloodstains are still on my shirt and jeans, but it’s not like anyone will notice them in the dark, especially under the natty old trench coat I “borrowed” from a street urchin a while back. The coat is especially useful, since I’m carrying Ariel’s sword underneath it - the only real possession I have. I still have no idea where Diego acquired it. Enough time has elapsed since Lago de Como that tracing its route would prove virtually impossible. And besides, the blade is with me now, so why bother?

Sunglasses are important, too, at this point. My eyes shine too much in the dark without them, and I’d rather not deal with the attention that attracts. It’s not like they hinder my vision all that much. The street in front of me, littered with trash and sinking houses, is a sharp greyish-blue, as bright to my eyes as noonday. I’m becoming increasingly colorblind, of course, a realization that startled me weeks ago but which now seems comfortable and familiar. The last time I wandered into the bright lights of Eckerd’s along East Lancaster , the store looked like something out of an old photograph. Blacks, whites and greys, vaguely violet-shaded. Even the most vibrant colors - bottles of shampoo, a plush Christmas teddy bear - were dull. My senses of smell and taste are also changing, but not to the same degree. Yet.

Don’t even ask about my tongue and ears.

Most of this I can thank Diego for, provoking me into frenzies the way he did. Lee and his friends as well. All dead now, of course. It is ironic that although my self control has improved greatly, I still kill. Perhaps even more casually than before. But perceiving myself as the victim in all of this was always a fallacy. I’m responsible for everything I’ve done - and haven’t done - and by all rights I’ve become a monster. Not as wry and amiable a demon as Pinem’e, but at least as vicious when stirred to action. I deserve to be destroyed, but I’ll not be the one to end it, and anyone who tries to do it for me will get what’s coming to them. I can thank Stephen for sealing Pinem’e away again, at least. I’d rather be my own monster than someone else’s.

There might come redemption in a thousand years. There might come death tomorrow. Either way, I’ve taken my unnatural place in the world, along with but separate from all the other vampires around today. Some part of me knows this is the Beast talking. My mind has become just as warped as my body, if not more. The instincts that Billy passed to me through blood are sharper than ever. I survive. Everything else is icing, really. What I do with the time I’ve got is completely up to me, and at the moment I’m not inclined to do much of anything but hunt and explore like a good lioness. Like a good monster.

Life is simpler this way. Easier. Hollow. But I just can’t bring myself to care that much.

It’s the dead of winter here in Texas , which means grey and drizzling but not too uncomfortable. There’s been enough rain lately to turn the ground and trash littering the street into mush. I’m more acutely aware of the cold than I ever was. I know I’m about the same temperature as the concrete I’m walking on, the icy chill sitting inside of my dead body, but without living flesh to suffer and die it’s not so bad. I miss the dry warmth of Mexico nights, though, especially when sleeping in the ground. I suppose when the urge strikes me I’ll break into a Wal-Mart or something, grab some fresh, comfortable clothes and clean up. After all, vampires are supposed to look good, aren’t they? Like a character out of a lushly written Anne Rice novel...

Actually, that sounds like a good idea.

...

There, much better. I feel more like myself again.

It wasn’t a Wal-Mart, but a Target, that I first happened upon. Which is alright by me. More upscale and their attempts at security were even more pitiful than I expected. I bathed in the dark using water from the women’s restroom, neatly brushed my hair in front of a dozen mirrors on sale, perfumed myself with rose oil until I stank, and dressed in the nicest clothing I could find. It felt unnatural, going to all this trouble to polish my appearance. I couldn’t stand to put on makeup. The rose fragrance was subtle enough not to overpower me, but the artificial smell of the makeup made me nauseous. Too stifling, too strong to my heightened sense of smell. Too much of an animal in me now, I suppose.

The clothes were uncomfortable at first. I had to fight to keep from fiddling with them constantly. Even the softer fabrics felt a little scratchy on my skin, and the cut of women’s clothes was too confining after all this time. But I forced myself to calm down and ignore the Beast rattling its cage, and now I’m able to enjoy my clean skin and fresh clothes. I even made the effort of flushing my skin to look more human. I’ll have to feed sooner, but c’est la vie. I’m in a massive population center now, compared to Mexico . A lioness in a flock of sheep.

Out of mild curiosity I even grabbed a newspaper to see what was happening in the world I’d left over a year ago. Terrorism. War. UN inspections. Weapons of mass destruction. Economic crash. I had to wonder how much the kindred were involved, not to mention the Syndicate and NWO. But as I flipped through the Dallas Morning News, I didn’t feel so bad for abandoning the world when I did. It seemed to have self-destructed well enough on its own.

Afterwards, I went for a walk in one of the 24-hour grocery stores, watching the stockers work their late, boring shifts and the shoppers shuffle through the brightly lit aisles in search of basic necessities. My hair shone a brilliant red under the fluorescents, looking, if anything, like a shiny, artfully arranged mass of glass filaments. I took my sunglasses off inside, my eyes gleaming a pale greyish-blue in the light. I wore gloves to cover my glassy fingernails and brushed my hair down to conceal the pointed tips of my ears. Here and there as I wandered the aisles, I would pick up a random object or two that caught my eye, smiling faintly at a bottle of still-red Heinz ketchup or a bundle of still-green peppers. It was good to see rich colors again. Perhaps it was the light, or perhaps I was just resisting the Beast for a change.

“Everything alright, ma’am?” a security guard asked me.

I smiled faintly to myself. I was dressed well, so I was “ma’am” again.

I turned to look at this man. He was black and overweight, his gun slung prominently to discourage trouble. An off-duty Fort Worth police officer. I tried not to grin too much, since I couldn’t take his display of force seriously. “Yes,” I replied, my voice low and husky, “Why would there be anything wrong?” I still had a bell pepper in my hand, which I clutched to my breast like a precious trophy, leaning against the produce shelves.

He took a step back and rested his hand rested on the butt of his gun. Something in my stance, my manner of speech, must’ve tipped him off that I was dangerous, even if he didn’t understand why. Prey instinct. “You’ve been wandering around the store for over an hour, ma’am. If you can’t find what you’re looking for, you should try someplace else.”

Translation: “I think you’re a thief or a loiterer. Go away.”

“Have you ever walked from Mexico City to Fort Worth ?” I asked suddenly.

His eyes narrowed in puzzlement, watching me. “No, ma’am. Can’t say I have.”

“You should,” I recommended with a mocking smile, “It’s good exercise.”

“I think you’d better leave, ma’am.” His voice was so firm, commanding. Bravo. Wonderful performance. Almost authentic.

“Have you ever shot someone?” I asked, ignoring him.

He promptly tightened his grip on the gun. “Yes, ma’am. But you should - ”

I interrupted, putting an innocent hand to my chest, “Would you shoot me?”

“I sure don’t want to, ma’am,” he countered grimly, “But I would if I had to. Now, do I have to escort you out of the store or are you gonna give me trouble?”

“I’ve been shot before,” I told him in a helpful tone of voice, “AK-47. From here - ” I pointed to my right shoulder. “To here.” Pointing at my left thigh. “Hurt like hell, as you might expect, but you couldn’t tell by looking at me I’m sure. So I don’t think that .45 is going to do much to me.”

He popped the button on his holster and gripped the handle, ready to pull.

“Step this way, ma’am,” he ordered, nodding slightly toward the front of the store, “I’ve heard enough. Leave the store or I’ll have you arrested.”

“Well, I just got these clothes,” I murmured lightly, fingering the fuzzy fabric of my sweater, “So I don’t want to make a mess.”

“Leave the store right now, ma’am. I’m not warning you again.”

Shrugging, I gently replaced the pepper in the stack, making sure it was cradled so as not to roll. With a polite smile, I strolled out of the store, pausing only to perform a little pirouette in aisle 6, which nearly got me shot right then and there. He probably thought I was an MHMR patient or something, which was fine by me. I found his threats, like all threats really, highly amusing. I curtsied to him through the automatic doors and went on my way.

God but I felt good. Free. Useless to everyone but myself.

...

Friday night in Denton .

I spent the day in the ground, waking shortly after sunset to break into an empty rental house, clean up and get dressed. Afterwards, I ran across the blank fields on either side of I-35W to stand in the parking lot of the darkened and silent White Rabbit. No one had bought the beleaguered roadhouse since I shut it down months earlier after my brief conversation with Stephen. It sat there almost challengingly, a sad and silhouetted monument to my last, desperate attempt at humanity.

I went inside. Everything was still there, nothing had been moved. Chairs stacked on the circular tables in the dining room, looking for all the world like any normal business closed for the night. The power, phones and water were off, of course, but I could see just fine in the dark. I wandered into my old office, running cool fingers over the bookshelves, the comfortable chairs, the big, impressive desk. There was a letter there from Andrew, who had lent me the money to start up the business in the first place. It explained in prosaic, almost friendly terms, that the business loan was in deferment and that I was free to reopen - and begin making payments again - whenever I chose.

I started laughing. The noise sounded flat in the spacious office.

“How sweet,” I murmured, tossing the letter away. Presumably, Andrew decided that - as my Prince - it was easier to leave me and the roadhouse alone rather than bother himself unnecessarily. The fact that he had more than enough money to indefinitely ignore the loan helped, too, I’m sure.

As an afterthought, I collected my license and identification cards, as well as my checkbook and credit cards, which I’d locked up in the safe. They were untouched. I had no idea if they were any good, after the amount of money I went through during my jaunt through Mexico . I figured the credit card was, though, since I never used it. It was an emergency item, after all, and since there’s not much a dead woman needs, there’d never been a reason to use it. Besides, in this information age of ours, you can disappear for years and as long as you don’t owe money, no one will notice you’re gone.

I tucked these things away in my pockets, smiling faintly. I have money and ID. I am now a real person again, as far as the world’s concerned.

Upstairs then, to my private rooms. It seems strange now to think of living in an upstairs loft, largely undefended, as if I were any normal human woman. The vulnerability of such openness was unnerving enough. Of course, I’d pretended to be suicidal at the time so leaving myself undefended had been suitably foolish. My quarters were as overdecorated as I remembered, stuffed with mementoes and knick-knacks like a mortal woman’s bedroom. I drifted into the walk-in closet, glancing around at the soft and delicate clothing still on their hangers with total disinterest. Still, they were clean, so I changed into the most functional and comfortable things I could find for the sake of freshness.

As I was heading back downstairs, I caught sight of Ariel’s beautiful old lute sitting by the enormous four-poster bed. Blinking, I hesitated in the doorway a moment before collecting it and taking it downstairs with me. Sitting on the stage, staring out into the dark, cavernous dining hall, I started toying with the instrument, trying to play the melodies I’d learned a couple of years back. I strummed, I plucked, I argued with the lute, striking repeated successions of bad notes. Strained, discordant music echoed around the hall as I fought with the instrument, unable to properly play any of the tunes I remembered. I knew I was capable, I knew I had the dexterity, but it was if my fingers didn’t want to cooperate.

Setting the lute in my lap, I stared at my hands. They weren’t shaking or stiff. They were the same graceful if bony fingers I’d had since this begun. There was no reason I couldn’t play the instrument. Frowning, I set the lute aside. It was the same as with Ariel’s sword, clumsy and useless in my hands. These things either resisted me, though the lute never had before, or some part of me refused to let me use them. I thought about the voice I’d heard after Lee’s attack in the desert, when I was left in that pit for Diego to “rescue” me from the approaching dawn. Perhaps some spark of Ariel was still in touch with me, and she was seriously pissed off by the current situation.

“Leave me alone, Ariel,” I called to the darkness, “I can’t help you.”

There was no answer.

Alternity is a collection of discarded alternate story arcs and possibilities for Wonderland.