Wonderland
Scenes from a Chronicle

1

            Katherine caught up to a young man walking in the darkened street behind the clubs, startling him with her sudden presence and ghostly appearance.  Once the shock wore off, though, he took a moment to look her over.  From the swell of her breasts against the pink tie-dye shirt she wore, to her surprisingly narrow waist and delicate, slender limbs.  She was all curves and hard lines, looking half-starved but succulent.  Katherine's eyes were cold and grey, revealing no emotion other than what he mistook for lust.

            "Whoa," the man chuckled, "What're you – "

            Shaking her head, Katherine took the young man's hands and led him farther down the street.  The moment she touched him with her cool, dry hands, a flicker of alarm went through him.  But he followed anyway as she danced backwards impatiently, eyes gleaming in the faint light.  A nervous laugh came out of him as he was dragged along, babbling a procession of confused questions.  "Who the hell are you?  Where're we going?"

            Andrew followed behind unnoticed, hands in his pockets.

            Both his panic and his excitement rose sharply as Katherine led him into the weed-choked yard of an abandoned house.  The scent of moist earth and greenery was thick in the air, and he glanced around, almost expecting to find his friends waiting for him.  But there was no one.  No one that he could see anyway in the thick gloom.  He peppered her with breathless questions as she pulled him farther in, to where people on the street would not see them.  And just as suddenly, she stopped dead, crashing into him with her small body.

            "Shit!" the man coughed, grabbing her instinctively, "You want it that bad?"

            Katherine didn't answer.  She slid upwards over his body, fingernails trailing upwards over his back.  The young man shivered at her touch, even as he felt himself getting hard.  Her light touch became even more insistent, tugging him downwards.  Dry lips brushed over his shoulder as she nuzzled his neck.  The woman's body tensed against him and he felt teeth graze his neck.  "Shit," he whispered in amazement, wobbling as he tried to maintain his balance, "No one's ever gonna believe this."

            He croaked a small cry of shock as her teeth broke the skin, cutting into the carotid artery, and then the sound died in his throat.  Despite his size, Katherine caught the young man's weight with ease and guided him toward the ground.  She lapped up the first stray spurt of blood before fixing her mouth over the wound, sucking greedily.  The man's eyes stared wide and blank at the sky as she cradled him in her arms, desperate to sate the hunger pains humming through every part of her body.

Time passed in a haze. 

When the pain ceased, Katherine released the young man with a hoarse moan.  His limp body rolled out of her lap and onto his side in the thick weeds.  Shuddering, Katherine steadied herself and gaped up at the cloud-smeared sky, hair tumbling against her shoulders.  The hot blood landed hard and hot in her belly, spreading a tingling warmth from her core, like feeling returning to a numb limb.  Her thoughts gradually cleared even as she clenched her hands into fists, fighting her way out of the rush of the experience. 

Katherine looked down at the crumpled body in front of her.  It was only then that the full realization of what she'd done hit, the truth of what she was.  She shivered as a weak cry rose up within her, and she turned the young man over to stare at his empty eyes.  His slack mouth.  Her trembling only grew worse the longer she held his vacant gaze, and she ran a hand over his face.  "Wake up," she whispered, giving him a little shake, "Wake up.  Don't do this to me."

A thin trickle of blood oozed from the wound in his throat.  He didn't move.

"Wake up," she begged, shaking the body violently, "Wake the fuck up!"          

The young man lay still.  A mewling whine came out of Katherine as she slumped over the body, clutching onto what used to be a human being.  Something hot ran over her cheeks, blurring her vision as she dug into the corpse with her fingernails.  "Wake up," she sobbed softly, "Wake up . . . please, God, don't do this to me . . . wake up . . . "

Andrew came through the tall weeds and stood quietly, watching.

2

"Zachary Hagell."

Dr. Terry Hendricks, Tarrant County Medical Examiner, looked up at the man across from him with a tired look. Average height, average build, average suit. Sleepy expression to his square cut face, plenty of spit-shine to his slicked back brown hair. Whether the Federal government chose its agents for their blandness or they beat it into them with years of training, Terry never could get a handle on them. Always showing up at odd hours, never explaining themselves except in the most half-assed and confusing of ways.

"You've been looking for this guy, huh," Dr. Hendricks muttered. The 'guy' being the hundred-some-odd pounds of chilled corpse on the refrigerator drawer between them. The stainless steel carriage, and even the grey-white flesh of the body, smoked with steam in the heated room. At least the cold took away the smell.

Special Agent Douglas Adam Wilder cocked his head with a languid, unconcerned expression, studying the body. When he spoke, it was in that pleasant near-monotone that nearly put Terry to sleep. Thank God he didn't talk much. "Zachary Hagell," Douglas said again, thoughtfully, "College student, worked part time as a sales rep for Motorola. His roommate reported him missing three weeks ago."

Douglas glanced sedately up at Terry. "What happened to him?"

"I dunno," Terry shrugged, rubbing his bottom lip. Cops never made him nervous, but the feds and their creepy ass agents always did. "It's some weird shit. They said he was found in an abandoned convenience store, thought maybe he'd died of an OD or exposure. Time of death is hard to guess, but from the state of decay I'd say at least a few weeks. Prolly before he was even reported missing.

"What's the weird shit?" Douglas inquired, hinting at a smile.

Terry waggled a finger at the agent. "The weird shit is he's got no blood in him. Well, I say no blood, but there's massive loss. Enough to kill you or me or anybody. The PD said there was none at the scene and there are no visible puncture wounds, or wounds of any kind. That's the weird shit."

Douglas nodded. Terry waited eagerly for him to agree this was weird. But no.

"We get stuff like this every once in a while," Terry added, hoping to strike the agent's interest, "But nobody's ever given me a real good explanation for it. The PD doesn't give a shit, of course, they got better things to do than follow up on a few weird corpses. Maybe you boys can clue me in on what it is."

Douglas put his head to one side. "What do you think it is?"

"My theory," Terry grunted, turning to look over the body, "Is that it's like cattle mutilations, except on humans. UFOs come down, grab some poor bastard, fuck him up real good, and dump him back here without any explanation. Sounds good, huh?"

"Sounds good," Douglas agreed, smiling wryly.

Terry chuckled, blowing it off as a joke. Damn people never listened to him. "So what's your interest in this guy? Missing persons and shit usually aren't Bureau matters."

"It's part of an ongoing investigation," Douglas explained dryly. For a moment, Terry swore the agent would let it drop there, but at the last minute, Douglas spoke up again in the same bland voice. Damn people reminded him of robots sometimes. "Mr. Haggell's roommate made out another missing person report two months earlier, on his fiancé, who was wanted for questioning in several similar deaths, before she died."

"Huh." Terry scratched at his balding crown. "So you've seen shit like this before, too."

"That's right."

Terry nodded. "So you got a theory, right?"

"We're the Federal government, Dr. Hendricks," Douglas solemnly advised him, "We're not interested in theories, only facts." There was a pause. "I'm having the body shipped to Virginia in the morning for more tests, so I'd appreciate it if you get Mr. Hagell's body ready now."

"Sure, sure," Terry agreed, sighing. "Anything else?"

Douglas pondered this for a moment. "I could use some coffee?"

It was an overcast Tuesday morning as the black Cadillac cruised leisurely down Interstate 30, and Diane Holbrook watched the sunlight slowly pulse in and out as clouds crossed the sun, seeming to move at a far greater speed than the vehicle. Resting an elbow on the window frame, she propped her cheek in her palm and turned to study the dour, sleepy-faced man in the driver's seat. Douglas Adam Wilder was of average height, average build - though a little on the thin side - and average features, with his dark brown hair slicked back from his forehead. There were grey shadows under his eyes from lack of sleep, which matched the plain grey of his suit. The man had barely spoken to her since arriving at her office that morning, and the silence in the car was growing oppressive. "Are you sure you should be driving?" she asked, "You look tired."

"No," he murmured softly, "I'm fine."

"When was the last time you slept?" Diane pressed, brow furrowing in concern.

Wilder glanced sedately at her. "Saturday."

Blinking, Diane sat up in surprise and tried to suppress her alarm. She scanned the road ahead of them to make sure he was still driving steadily within his lines, but traffic was light and everything was normal. A glance at the speedometer revealed that he was even driving under the speed limit, quite a rarity in Texas . "And you're fine?" she countered uneasily, forcing herself to relax back in her seat.

"Yes, it was a very restful sleep," Wilder explained in a pleasant monotone, the voice of insomniacs and university professors everywhere. He squinted slightly as the sun peeked through the clouds. "Motel 6 in Oklahoma City . Good hotel. Good coffee, too." He paused, glancing at her with a slightly lifted eyebrow. "Does it bother you, Officer Holbrook?"

"I told you. You can call me Diane," she reminded him.

Wilder frowned faintly, as if the thought had never occurred to him, and divided his attention between the neatly dressed young woman and the road. "That would be unprofessional of me, Officer Holbrook. Does it bother you that I haven't slept recently?"

"Yes, it does," Diane returned sharply, "And would you please watch the road? The way people drive around here, you're lucky to avoid an accident even when you're fully rested and paying attention."

Nodding in assent, Wilder turned away from her. Diane suspected the young man was playing with her mind a little bit, like the feds always seemed to do when they came around. But if he found the situation amusing or distressing at all, it didn't show on his quiet, distractedly thoughtful features. The Cadillac continued sailing along in a stately manner, in no particular hurry to get anywhere. "I've seen worse. Don't worry, Officer Holbrook. I have a reduced need for sleep compared to the average person."

Diane laughed under her breath. "So what, you're like a yogi or something?"

"Something like that," Wilder nodded, smiling slightly for the first time.

"Okaaaaaaaay . . . " Diane rolled her eyes and sighed, looking out the window. Overcast or not, the glare outside was bright enough that she still wore her sunglasses, which she adjusted to give her fidgeting hands something to do. It was also becoming rather warm inside the car, since Wilder hadn't seen the need to turn on the air conditioning despite the brooding September heat. She could feel a slight trickle of sweat run under her cream-colored blouse and between her breasts, which was more than impetus enough. Frowning, Diane switched the AC on medium, glancing at Wilder in case he complained, but the man didn't even seem to notice. "May I ask you a question, Agent Wilder?"

"Yes, of course." He smiled serenely.

"What exactly is the Bureau's interest here?" she inquired, grimacing as the cold air from the vent struck her tacky skin, "Missing person cases don't usually attract federal interest. And there's no mystery to what happened here."

Wilder glanced at her, ever so briefly. "Oh?"

Diane folded her arms across her chest and shrugged. "By all indications, this woman just ditched her fiancé to run off with another man. A fairly wealthy man, apparently, but there's nothing all that unusual about that. There's lots of people around here with big money, especially at TCU."

"Is that why the report was buried at the bottom of the stack?"

"Compared to the number of missing and kidnapped children you see around here," Diana replied with icy indignation at the implied criticism in the man's words, if not his voice, "It was hardly urgent, Agent Wilder."

A ghost of a smile touched Wilder' features and he cocked his head slightly in her direction rather than turning to face her, as instructed. "Nothing is urgent, Officer Holbrook. You miss important information when you're in a hurry. A good agent knows to anticipate a situation before a crisis erupts." His smile widened a hair. "You should slow down. Take more pleasure from your work."

"Have a cup of coffee?" Diane suggested sarcastically.

"That is very important," Wilder nodded, in all seriousness.

Sighing impatiently, Diane flopped back against the headrest and glared over at him through her straight, strawberry blonde hair. "Alright. So what is the FBI doing here? Or is this a 'need to know' situation and I'm just here to make things official?"

Wilder was quiet for a moment, taking his time as they exited the freeway at University Drive and followed the off-ramp as it looped around. Diane half-expected the people behind them to honk at the Cadillac's unhurried speed, but nobody did. When he spoke up, his voice was solemn and so soft as to be almost imperceptible over the sound of the air conditioning. "Katherine Worlow had been dating her fiancé, Daniel Vera, for two years prior to her disappearance, and 'by all indications' - " He made quotes with his free hand. " - their relationship was going well. The note she left gave no indications as to her motives, only that she could never see them again. The arrangements for her withdrawal from school were made primarily by telephone and, while the details are hazy, apparently without the direct involvement of Katherine herself. Daniel later received an anonymous tip that Katherine was staying with someone in Denton , but when he visited the house where she was supposedly staying, he was told repeatedly that no one by that name lived there."

The car slowed to a smooth stop at the red light, and Wilder glanced over at her. Diane was rather surprised by his sudden verbosity, but the young man seemed to warm to the subject of the job at hand. "You don't find any of that suspicious?" he asked.

"A little," she conceded with a wry smile, "But not enough to take time away from more important cases."

"We've been monitoring several individuals and organizations suspected of criminal activities in the Denton area," Wilder continued, pausing to turn down the air conditioning, "Katherine had ties to these persons, but until recently she had no direct contact with them. Katherine's school debts were paid off by a company associated with these persons, and the address given to Daniel by his anonymous caller is the personal property of one such individual."

Diane nodded, glad to finally be told what this was all about. "What kind of criminal activities are they suspected of?"

Wilder shrugged: "Racketeering, obstruction of justice, bribery, fraud, involvement in terrorist activities and possibly murder. I'm not fully aware of the details at present, as that is a separate investigation with which I'm not involved."

The young woman mulled over this information as the car started moving again, following University Drive toward the school itself. "So you think Katherine was kidnapped or murdered because she knew something damaging to these individuals?"

Shaking his head slowly, Wilder scanned the buildings on either side of the street. "I've only been assigned to look into Katherine Worlow's disappearance and gather information, Officer Holbrook. If I find anything that may be valuable to that investigation, then I will share it with my superiors. But I have no theories of my own."

"Surely you must have an opinion?" Diane countered.

"Theories are not reality," Wilder told her mildly, "And opinions only color your judgment." He glanced at her with a small, indulgent smile. "You should learn to be more open-minded, Officer Holbrook."

"I am," she replied coolly, raising an eyebrow in challenge, "I'm riding in a car driven by a strange man who hasn't slept in days."

"That's true," he agreed.

4

The drive to Denton included a rather tedious detour through small bedroom communities and farm roads due to a small accident on the highway. Diane kept her thoughts to herself, still unsure as to the importance of this investigation. She considered what little information they'd gleaned so far, which pointed to strange circumstances involved with Katherine Worlow’s disappearance, but as of yet little of it suggested foul play or illegal activities. Agent Wilder, for his part, seemed quite content with the small amounts of real data they had received from Daniel Vera - the young student was quite willing to share all his information and many of his speculations when they questioned him.

Katherine certainly seemed unhappy with school, even if she rarely mentioned it to her fiancé. Daniel also mentioned that she had been very frightened - apparently believing someone was watching her at night - and this went a long way to explaining his strident refusal to believe she had simply left him. But the young man admitted that while Katherine had briefly lived with he and his roommate, the very ill-looking Zachary Hagell, she soon moved out again to live with her friend, Audrey, who had proved too histrionic for a meaningful interview. Daniel had no explanation for Katherine's decision to move out, other than a need for "space".

All of which suggested to Diane that Katherine was unhappy with her schooling and her relationship. While she and Daniel had made arrangements to live in their own apartment, Diane suspected Katherine went along mostly to appease him, and the pressure of the approaching move-in date triggered her sudden, inexplicable withdrawal. A glimpse into Katherine's mind seemed to confirm this. Daniel had been gracious enough to let them examine his fiancé's artwork, which told in pictures the story of a fairytale turned sour. Happy pictures and the inscription, truehearts, gave way to dark, claustrophobic streets and grim figures. Daniel even shared Katherine's notebook, which she left behind the night she fled. The contents were an incoherent mess, but at the end Katherine had written, Oath breaker in a firm, clear hand.

While Katherine had the makings of a talented artist, Diane recognized the signs of a disturbed mind. She began to wonder if the woman's vague, hastily written goodbye note were not a suicide letter. Daniel claimed that his "anonymous source" had seen Katherine alive and well in Denton , both at the address given to him and elsewhere, but Diane paid little attention to this. Daniel Vera was desperate and grasping at straws, and humanity was sick enough that she wouldn't put it past somebody to play cruel tricks on him by dangling leads in front of him. Suicide would go a long way to explaining her total disappearance. Wilder didn't seem to agree, but his inquiries to law enforcement, hospitals and social services in Denton came up empty. Katherine Worlow was a non-entity was far as Denton was concerned, and there were no Jane Does matching her description.

As Diane leaned back and watched the weathered houses and open fields smoothly slide by, she wondered again what Wilder's real purpose was here. The New Age crap he espoused had to be a smokescreen, a way of deflecting her questions and keeping her off-balance. Despite his vague allusions to "criminal activities" and conspiracy theories, Wilder had shared virtually nothing with her in the way of real information. To pour this much effort into an investigation, there had to be something of importance here, though Diane doubted it really had anything at all to do with Katherine Worlow.

The Cadillac turned onto a small, one-lane road with a large green sign proclaiming:

Denton City Limits
Population: 118,452

Diane sat up some to look at the spray-painted words beneath this: "Traditions Enforced". The lettering was black, scrawled quickly - but the meaning eluded her. Wilder steered through a narrow underpass for a railway bridge, and they came upon a wide four-lane street. The area had the look and feel of a normal quiet little town. Houses behind privacy fences and a park across the street with a few joggers, and on the far side of the park a community church stood amongst some trees. "Looks to be a nice town," Wilder said somewhat brightly, "Do you want to stop and get some coffee?"

Frowning, Diane glanced at her watch. "It's two o'clock in the afternoon, Agent Wilder."

"That's quite true," Wilder agreed mildly, "But I haven't slept in two days, remember?"

"Point taken," Diana conceded with a sigh.

"Besides," the man continued in the same unhurried tone, gesturing at the houses around them with his fore and index fingers, "Checking out the local restaurants is a good way to get the feel for a town. People like to talk when they're eating, and if you read between the lines, you can find out what's on the minds of the population." Wilder smiled peacefully, glancing at her. "And I feel like having a piece of cherry pie."

Rubbing her eyes, Diane reminded him, "We're not tourists, Agent Wilder. I don't know if you have anything better to do, but I see no reason to waste my valuable time when there are other cases that need attending to. Let's check out the address Mr. Vera gave us and see if there's anything to his story."

"You don't want pie?" Wilder asked, his brow furrowed in bemusement.

"No," Diane returned sharply, "I don't want pie."

Nodding thoughtfully, drove on in silence for a few minutes, glancing about occasionally to maintain his bearings. The directions Daniel Vera had given were simple enough to follow, leading toward one of the wealthier and more exclusive neighborhoods. Diane tucked her head into a little chink of sun and watched the people outside, going about their lives. They were nearly there when Wilder spoke up again, using the blandly pensive voice he reserved for disclosing information. "I saw you noticed the writing on the sign back there. Do you have any idea what it means?"

Turning to look at him, Diane shrugged. "No. Enlighten me."

"I wish I could," Wilder replied smoothly, watching as a few weak droplets of rain spattered against the windshield before glancing up at the slate grey sky. "I saw something similar in New Orleans last year. Someone had painted the phrase 'masques on' in white paint on a road sign just outside the city. I saw the same thing two more times while I was there, written on the side of a condemned building and outside of a dance club called the Fields of Elizium." He smiled distantly and switched on the windshield wipers as the rain gathered strength. "They had a band called Nefilim playing that night. Good music."

"Gangs?" Diane asked over the rumble of thunder.

"That's what the local PD said," Wilder nodded.

Diane gave him a dubious look. "But you didn't believe them?"

"That's just what they said," Wilder shrugged, gracefully spinning the steering wheel as he turned the car onto a spacious, quiet-looking street. Most of the houses here were far from the street, retreating behind fencing, gates and spacious, impeccably manicured lawns. Peering through the rain, he scanned for the correct street number. "Tell me something, Officer Holbrook. How many missing persons have you found, alive? What do you think your department's average is?"

"I don't know," Diane said softly, taken aback by the question, and looked away. "Not many. We're pretty overloaded, and there's not enough people in our department to keep up with the workload. I work mostly with missing children, and our success rate is still pretty . . . sad. We've found a few dead kids over the years, and a lot of dead teenagers. It's a bad time, Agent Wilder, you know that. I used to think we were lucky for living here, compared to some place like New York or Los Angeles . But it's still scary. Things have gotten more violent than I ever remember them being when I was a kid . . . "

"We?" Wilder echoed.

"I have a 13-year-old daughter," Diane explained.

"Oh, I didn't realize," Wilder murmured. For the first time, his expression grew pained, and he glanced over at her with a sympathetic smile. "It must be difficult for you, raising a daughter, considering your line of work."

"As difficult as it would be for anyone, Agent Wilder," Diane countered firmly, shaking her head, "If I let it to get to me, I wouldn't be able to do my job. Hell, I wouldn't even be able to let my daughter out of my sight, even to go to school or see her friends. And at least I understand what it means to have children and to worry about their safety every day of your life. That means a lot to people, it helps them trust me. And God knows I'd do anything I could to bring somebody's kid back, alive and well."

5

            Katherine flinched as she struck the match, holding it away from her as it flared into momentary brilliance, followed by the sullen orange flame and smoke.  Her face was a ruddy Halloween mask by its light, the rest of the living room swimming in darkness.  Not such a good idea, playing with fire.  But since when hadn’t she indulged a little?  The threat and the fear were all part of the flame’s allure, after all.

            Her hand trembled as she reached out to light the starter log’s wrapping of helpfully combustible paper, waiting for the moment – as she always did – when something would go awry and a spark or lick of flame would swallow her up.  That tiresome, imminently reasonable voice in her head, said this was no different from starting her parents’ fireplace on cold nights.  Or candles for prayer.  But that secret voice in the back of her head sharply disagreed.

            Once the log started going up, Katherine hastily drew the grill shut and retreated a safe distance to observe.  This was the moment, as the firelight danced in her eyes, that she longed for.  The whoosh of the flames taking hold, the thin smoke and air sucked up the chimney, the crackle as the kindling was consumed.  And then, gradually, the warmth came.  Radiating against her cold cheeks and hands.

            For some reason, the experience filled her with a sly, forbidden excitement.  On the one hand, she could feel warm again – though it was still a far cry from real body heat.  And she’d successfully tamed the fire yet again – though one day she knew the moment of peril or panic would come.  But mainly, there was the almost childlike rapture of watching the materials burst into flame.  That should be me, part of her said.  That should be the whole fucking world.

            Catching the heat with spread palms, Katherine smiled faintly to herself.  Back when her world was studying, sunshine and slow romance, Daniel had taken her to his parents’ cabin for Winter Break.  That must have been the moment when she realized what different worlds they occupied, how much wealthier and easier his family’s life must have been.  Compared to them her family lived in poverty.  She’d been afraid of fire then, too; Daniel lit the fireplace for them.  But she’d still watched it with this little girl fascination, hadn’t she?

            With a languid stretch, Katherine eased back, shoving aside the stacks of books and diskettes which had accumulated on the rug.  One hand, trailing over the thick weave of the rug, came across the laptop computer she’d stolen from an inept college student months ago.  It was warm to the touch, its insides purring.  She must have left it on days ago, happily whiling away the time on the steady power supply from the AC adapter, and forgotten all about it.

            Rolling onto her side, Katherine swung open the little silver Apple notebook to see what she’d been working on last. 

It’s a coldcoldcoldcoldcoldfucking world out there, and you’re sitting here in the dark moping by the fucking fireplace?  What is wrong with you, you dumb bitch?  Pretending nothing’s happening.  Like shit.  Don’t you think they know you’ve brought guys here to kill before?  Do you think they’re that fucking stupid?  Do you think I am?

Katherine blinked and stared at the words, standing out in precise, strangely civilized black letting against the white screen.  The light it cast, steady and bright, was jarring in the gloom.  Once the initial shock wore off, she glanced sharply about the room as if expecting to find the culprit lurking about somewhere.  But the room was dead still aside from the dancing firelight and the popping of split wood.

            Eyes narrowing, Katherine turned back to the innocuous little machine, nestled amongst a pile of scattered books.  The electronic page was blank otherwise.  No signature, no document name, just a plain white screen with this message on it.  Considering the maddened pace of events over the past couple of weeks, anyone could have come into the pool house and left this message for her.  But a smug corner of her mind told her she’d written it out herself, without remembering.

            Katherine killed the power to the laptop, wiping out all trace of the message.

*                    *                    * 

            From where he stood in the darkened yard, Stephen eyed the column of smoke rising from the pool house's chimney.  The compact two-story building, Katherine's new home, sat on the edge of the property he shared with Jolie and the children.  She'd cleaned the blood from the night before last, he noticed, though there were still stains of it in the cracks of the window.  Bloody hand prints no one else could see. 

But he could.  Even as he watched, three small spirits danced gleefully around the smoke, drawn to this place by the sorrow and fear she radiated when she lit the fire.  Dancing down into her lair, the mad queen holding a mock court.  They fled back into the darkness as Stephen stepped out of the house's shadow, to plague others.  They knew the young man's strength well enough.  Even if the same gift which revealed them might someday drive him mad.

Stephen's eyes traced the ground, over the foot prints and lines of fate that wove through the grass.  They bore the marks of joy, pain, hunger and hate, all drawn toward the pool house.  The place was awash in memories, echoed voices trickling into his thoughts.  His daughter, Kitsunei, playing with a bird there, under the oldest tree.  Jolie crying.  Katherine's bloody paw prints heading back to her lair.

The young man sighed.  Though it was early past sunset, Katherine would already be awake.  Unlike Andrew, who often took a bit of time to rise, Katherine woke and slept in a heartbeat.  And unlike Andrew, shaken by nightmares, she did not dream.  The emptiness of her daytime sleep troubled him.  But then, all of this did, bringing with it the weight of despair.  Steph had hoped they'd found some peace and stability before Katherine's murder.  He didn't care to face the same trial with Kat as he had with Andrew.  Nor to fail and lose another friend.

Dreams are our hope and fear, he quoted to himself, Why is she without them?  Does her demon hide them from her?

Of course, this assumed she was telling him the truth.  Stephen wouldn't be terribly surprised if she was keeping such things from her, for whatever reason.  The young woman who once rambled on about her thoughts and dreams for the future had been shattered, becoming a silent and reclusive little predator.  She will always lie, he thought, The dead do not walk.  She must learn of her secret places or she will lose herself to the demon.

            His eyes lifted again to the tendril of smoke and he began walking across the yard.  Now that the surprisingly mild Summer had faded, Katherine ran the fireplace near constantly at night.  While fire was a source of great fear for most vampires, Katherine seemed more enamored by the flames than anything.  She did not expend the effort to maintain a natural appearance or body heat except in public or with the children.  Stephen closed his eyes at thought of the slight cold she left on things she touched, the autumn air never frosting when she pretended to breathe.  He knew the fire was an exercise in self-control, dangerous though it was, and a way to keep her cold body warm. 

            She tries to purify her fear, he mused, And scare her demon.  It will only hurt her for it.

            As he walked across the yard, tortured faces swam past him, which he tried to ignore.  Like the spirits, they were attracted to her nightly fire, hungry for her self-loathing and hate.  Soft whispers and cries of the dead, a child's voice moaning softly beneath the earth.  Katherine's memories of her victims, her self-hate given voice.  And sometimes, revealed in painfully twisted figures lurking on the fringe of his awareness, given shape.

            And then a new voice, this time from within him: They are powerless.  Let them rot.

            Stephen growled involuntarily.

Not happy to know I am still here?

"You are unwanted here," he hissed softly.

A soft chuckle sounded nearby, but the voice did not return.

Running a hand through his hair, Stephen turned his thoughts to her other rituals, little ways to keep from settling into the brooding depression that developed in her with inaction.  Prominent amongst these were studying or practicing swordplay alone or with her instructor, Ashley.  Even with a normal life shattered behind her, Katherine continued to study and work at her books and computer late into the night.  The esoteric and magical had joined her library of psychology and medical texts, and she pursued to the mystical with the cold determination of a woman with plenty of time on her hands.

Still, Katherine was turning increasingly wild.  She roamed constantly when she wasn't otherwise occupied, exploring old buildings, wandering through the rundown parks that dotted the city, or disappearing into the wide-open nowhere of plains and hills that surrounded it.  She broke into the university or local museums on a whim, to gather books, computer software, or simply to study art.  More than a few times, he found her perched on the roof or in a tree, watching the neighborhood or the stars.  He thought Katherine was developing a taste for her own power.

Her rituals are more powerful than she knows, the serpent whispered from within, To summon spirits or shadows of the dead, she has much power.

"Though will that be enough to give her new life?" Steph replied aloud, grimly.  His memory of the young woman, reading quietly by the fireplace, mixed with images of her killing.  Her tearing a man to pieces in the dark.  Her rasping, inhuman voice when she screamed.  The mewling sound of her sorrow when she cried.  Stephen thought of the times he had watched Katherine as she stared at he and their friends.  She thinks no one notices, but I watch her think of ways to kill each of us.

The clouds parted for the low-hanging moon, and Stephen paused to look at it.  His grandfather and aunt had both looked upon this very same moon and filled with rage at the sight, but fought that nature constantly.  We still fight, childe, his aunt's voice murmured behind him.  But Stephen didn't turn to face her.  He didn't want her to see the emptiness he felt when he saw the moon.  A sigh escaped him.  He fought his own battles against the darkness, in his own ways.

Rousing himself, Stephen knocked at the pool house door. 

*                    *                    * 

When no answer came, he carefully made entry into the small living room.  Though dimly lit by a few small lamps, there was no hiding the barren quality of the interior.  Aside from a sofa, Katherine had emptied the room to make space for an intricate oriental rug she'd stolen on one of her outings.  She sat perfectly in the middle of this, close enough to the fireplace for warmth, but far enough that her natural unease didn't overtake her.

Katherine's eyes glowed a pale green in the dimness as she whipped her head about to see him.  She sat on her haunches, seemingly ready to pounce upon some unseen prey, with her arms loose at her sides.  One hand rested atop the lid of a folded notebook computer by her hip, her long fingernails rapping against the plastic.  Her expression was panicked and confused, and she turned on Steph with a questioning look.  Steph paused a moment at the wildness in her eyes before his gaze roamed upwards into her hair.  Normally shoulder length, she'd whacked back to a ragged red bob.  "Steph," she murmured, her voice low and almost growling.  Suspicious.  The lilting, sweet quality to her voice had long since faded.

"Is something the matter?" he inquired cautiously, glancing meaningfully toward the fire.

Her eyes narrowed and she dipped her chin to study him grimly.  A chill ran down Steph's back as he saw the cold calculations being performed there by an inhuman mind.  Assessing the threat he might pose at first and then his potential as prey.  Something had pushed Katherine to the edge of alarm, but thankfully she retained enough self control to restrain her passions.  After a few moments, she eased down into a normal sitting position and looked away thoughtfully.  "No," she snapped, "Everything is fine."

Frowning, Steph tried a different tack.  He gestured languidly so as not to startle her.  "You cut your hair."

Katherine shrugged cooly, her mind elsewhere.  "It was in the way."

"It'll grow back," he gently reminded her.

A slow, humorless smile twisted her mouth.  "Yes, I know."

Sighing, Stephen let the matter go for now.  When she was alive, Katherine had treasured her hair, taking exquisite care of it.  To whack it off like this, out of sheer frustration, wasn't like her.  At least the old her.  Katherine sensed the young man's thoughts, and forced herself to relax and regard him with a more temperate expression.   "What did you need?" she asked, her voice rough.

"I expected you to come out earlier," Steph murmured, resting his hands on the back of the sofa.  "I was worried about you."

"I'm fine," she returned flatly,  "I'm only thinking."

"Have you decided what to do about Daniel?" Steph inquired gingerly, after a space of tense silence.

            Katherine's smile faded and she languidly drew her legs up, tucking them against her chest to hug them.  This little show of vulnerability was a good sign, Stephen hoped.  Though as he'd learned recently, this predator's vulnerability could be deceiving.  "I have to meet him," she allowed, "There's no other way.  He won't listen to anyone else."

            "And what will you say?" Steph asked.

            She shook her head.  "I don't know.  Everything I think of sounds stupid, and he won't believe me."

            "Maybe you don't have to explain," Steph suggested, leaning his hip against the sofa, "Maybe it's enough for him to know it's over between you."

            A humorless smile crossed her features.  "Hurt him enough, you mean, so he'll go away."

            Steph shrugged, feeling tired, as he often did after a conversation with Katherine.  "The truth would only hurt him more," he reminded her, "And he doesn't belong in this situation any more than you did.  Anything you say is going to hurt him.  What is important is that you protect him, keep him away."           

Katherine chuckled dryly.  "From me."

            They shared silence for a few moments.  Steph watched the glow of the fire play balefully against the woman's iridescent hair and the perfect white mask of her face.  The bitterness slowly drained out of her expression, leaving behind only a distant, tired set to her eyes and mouth.  She almost seemed to forget he was there.  Until he broke the stillness, circling around the sofa to sit, whereupon her face tightened again.

            Stephen took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  "Katherine, stop doing this to yourself."

            She glanced at him, her expression blank but her eyes curious.  When he didn't immediately answer, she smirked.  "Are you suggesting suicide?"

            "You know that's not what I mean," Steph admonished.

            "Then I don't know what you mean," Katherine shot back.

            Rubbing his temples, Steph took a moment to compose himself.  A few licks of shiny black hair tumbled before him, which he swiped back.  "You're trying too hard," Stephen murmured as he looked up at her, "Acting tough and like you don't care is only going to get you killed.  Stop punishing yourself for what you are.  It's not your fault."

            "Fuck you," Katherine growled softly, "I hate Billy, or whatever the fuck his name is.  And I want him to . . . I don't know what the hell I want to do to him.  Hurting him, killing him doesn't seem like enough." 

            Katherine turned her head to meet his silent gaze, and pressed her lips together bitterly.  Balling her right hand into a fist, she held it up as she dug into the soft skin of her palm with her nails.  She bared her teeth in a grimace as blood trickled down her wrist.  Steph looked away.  Her sudden flashes of anger were getting worse.  "You're fucking right I'm trying hard," she whispered, "Maybe I'm a bitter, sulky vampire bitch, but it's all I can think of not to go fucking insane."

            Smiling sadly, Steph shrugged.  "Maybe you already are."

            Katherine flinched and glanced away, toward the fireplace.  She made the effort of sighing, a dry, empty sound, and quietly licked the blood off of her hand and arm.  "Maybe Andrew was right," Steph murmured as he watched this grisly ritual of hers, "Maybe you should've been put out of your misery.  You make only a half-assed effort to fit in, to do something with yourself, and you treat the rest of us like shit.  Even those of us who are trying to be your friends and help you."

            Katherine shook her head and looked down into the dark hollow between her chest and legs.  "If you want to jump in the fucking fire," Stephen said softly, "Go ahead, if you're not going to try.  If you don't care, why should I?"

            Closing her eyes, Katherine pressed her forehead to her knees.

6

            Katherine strode languidly into the cool, mausoleum-like atmosphere of her bedroom, the fortified little refuge she'd made in the pool house basement.  It was one of the few corners of the building to be completely safe from the light of the sun, and the cold concrete burned against the soles of her feet where it wasn't covered by a scattering of oriental rugs.  Somewhere above, a thin grey light was already touching the sky, and her movements were slowing as the strength rapidly ebbed out of her limbs.  Every night at this time, Katherine felt as if she were turning to stone. 

            Slipping into her kimono, Katherine sat on the edge of the ancient and battered old bed she'd lugged down her herself not too long ago, drowning in blankets and pillows of every description.  Though since sleep usually passed in the blink of an eye, the only reason for this decadence was the fleeting sense of normalcy it offered.  Tonight, however, with Stephen's help, Katherine hoped for more.  She could hear him putting about upstairs, allowing her time to get ready before joining her.  Stephen had offered her the chance to dream again.  Or if not dream precisely, at least drift through her memories like they were a dream.  He had done much the same thing for Andrew once.

            Katherine picked up the photograph Stephen had given her earlier.  It was somewhat yellowed and brittle, with a circular stain in the corner from someone's spilt coffee or tea decades ago.  The satyr Elisa smiled broadly up at Katherine from the old picture, eyes bright and hair a mass of blonde curls tumbling down her back.  There was a fair resemblance in her features to Katherine, and her mother when she was young.  Something in the eyes, the shape of her face, the set of her mouth.  Justifiably so since, as Stephen said, this creature was not only a distant relative, but Katherine's own past self.

            Katherine lay back in bed, blinking slowly as she studied the photograph.  Elisa had married and bore a daughter whose name Katherine didn't know, and who had no children of her own.  This lovely, magical woman left no direct descendants, no one for Katherine to turn to and ask about what she'd been like.  Though, really, she thought Elisa must have been much like she used to be before her embrace.  And at least in that life, seemingly so long ago, Katherine thought she'd known happiness.  Something she might have found again here with Daniel, along with her own true nature, if only.

            Reluctantly, Katherine set the photograph aside and wrapped her cold, slender body in the blankets.  Her meandering thoughts turned to Stephen's earlier embrace, and the tenderness with which he smoothed bloody tears from her cheeks.  How could anyone show such kindness to a monster?  How could anyone see the human being still inside, after murder upon murder?  It could only be Stephen, she thought.  Katherine couldn't imagine anyone else reaching out to her the way he had, forgiving her even for trying to take his life.

            There came a knocking at her door, and Stephen lightly descended the steps into her room with a tactful, calm expression.  Entering a vampire's refuge was never an altogether safe thing to do, and he would have to be with her throughout the day to maintain the dreaming.  Steph had promised a trinket later on, when he had the time, that would allow her the privilege of real dreams without needing his presence.  But that was to follow this experiment.

            "Are you ready?" he asked, his voice faint and neutral. 

Katherine smiled weakly and nodded, the movements languid and difficult.  Not so long ago, she had fallen to sleep in his living room after fleeing the sunrise, exhausted and ready to die.  She wondered if that memory was on his mind as well.

Stephen circled around her bed and sat in a small wooden chair she'd collected earlier from upstairs.  Though this room was near to drowning in rugs, pillows and other decorations, the rest of the house was essentially barren of furniture.  It had taken quite a bit of searching to locate a chair for the occasion, tucked away in a forgotten closet.  "Just relax," Stephen murmured gently as she lay back, resting her hands on her belly, "And dream well."

A little smile touched Katherine's lips as she closed her eyes, his familiar words stirring old memories.  For a few moments, there was silence, broken only by the steady sound of the young man's breathing – and perhaps a few softly murmured words she couldn't discern – and that by now all too familiar sense of tightening in her stomach that heralded the coming of sleep.            

And then Katherine was falling, as one does when near dreaming, but she could not start or jerk herself awake.  Her body was a dead thing again for the day, and wouldn't answer her.  So she only fell, and fell, and fell . . .

Then there are flames, glowering firelight against the walls from outside.  There is a bitter chill to the air, but also a delicious warmth to their intertwined bodies, clinging to each other under blankets of wool and fur.  The sounds of fighting come from the distance, rising and falling like breathing, a reminder that others are dying for the luxury of this moment, of sleep, of life itself. 

His head rests upon the pillow of her breast, and she slowly strokes his long, coarse hair.  Perhaps she's taken his anxiety into herself, for he sleeps while she lays awake, longing only for more time.  Bitterness would be easier, but there is only the soft ache of falling in love without hope.           

            "Am I dreaming?" she asks the blue-eyed noble watching her from his perch, riding the back of a scarlet settee across from her.  She is warm, but it is different now, though she can still feel her man's hair sliding between her fingers, even if she cannot see him.  "No," the blond creature returns with a tinge of mocking humor, "Trust me, you're not."

            "Though I'm sure you miss it," he adds gently, though the words sound strange to her ears.  The room is awash in the blue-white glare of an ornate lamp sitting beside him, burning like magic.  She feels she should know the room, but it's alien nonetheless. 

A sheet of blond hair slides across the noble's face, casting him with a secretive, deceptive expression.  He spreads his palms out.  "There's no dreaming without life."

            Her lover's kiss returns her to their bed, readily blotting the noble's speech from her thoughts.  His face is rough but his lips are moist and soft, the sweet enigma of a man, capturing her mouth in gentle exploration.  The orange light dances upon his skin as he hangs above her, draped in intimate shadows.  "We're not dead yet," he reminds her as they break apart, pressing his forehead to hers, "We'll find a way.  Don't be afraid."

            "So who's afraid?" she counters with as much bravado as she can muster.  Her back is against the wall now, and Daniel is close enough that she can smell the musk of his body.  Behind him is the silhouette of the Bank tower.  She's often wondered when walking by what the university looks like from the top of it.

            "Glad to hear it," the man answers quietly, and his smile ignites something in her.  The night air is too warm and humid, she's sweating in all the secret nooks and crannies of her body, and it's excruciating.  Too hot, too much to drink, too everything.  "You're beautiful," Daniel whispers, beginning to nuzzle her neck.  It's a gorgeous feeling, even as she feels herself melting against him, hearing her heartbeat getting softer and softer and softer.

            If she looks hard enough she can see the stars, swimming against the blue-black velvet of the sky, beyond him.  A heady breeze ripples across her body, and she knows she's blowing away with it, like nothing more than fine sand.  "It's magic," the silky voice says gently, "Like Alice in Wonderland.  'Drink me.'"

            Something hot and fiery spatters against her face, her lips and tongue, like rain.  She swallows some of it, and it burns its way through her.  The pain brings weak tears to her eyes, but she's turning her head toward the rain of this elixir, trying to take it in despite herself.  "You know," the voice adds softly, "In fairy tales, the princess never dies.  It's always happily ever after . . . "

7

Daniel Vera’s life was fucked up.

            A year ago, he’d started work on his Masters in history and got a good, straightforward job from Motorola.  Before long, he’d met a shy, thoughtful young woman named Katherine, one of the psych students from across the street whom he hardly ever met.  And a few months ago, he’d asked Katherine to move in with him.  He bought her a necklace for the occasion, a gorgeous emerald, and plans were made to find a place of their own.  Sure, Zach hadn’t been crazy about it.  But Zach could carry his own share of the bills half the time, so that was no big shock.

            Now Kat’ was gone.  Poof.  Vanished.  She quit school and left a half-page note he couldn’t make sense of.  He kept it in that book, After You’d Gone, that she’d given to him.  He read it over and over again, as if he could force more answers out of the tired, looping curves of her handwriting.  By now he knew the words by heart.  There was no “it’s not working out” or “I met someone else” to be found.  Just “I can’t see you anymore”, “please forgive me” and the ever-damning “I love you”.

            The sad thing was, he read it less and less often these days.  Nobody answered the “missing person” flyers he put up in Denton and around here.  Those freaky guys she was supposed to be staying with just told him to get lost.  The cops had better things to do.  And on and on.  Until finally, last Friday, looking up at the ceiling, it dawned on him.  Like he had for the past two months, he cried with that empty, despairing feeling in the pit of his stomach.  She meant it.  She was never coming back.

            And so, here he was, standing in the kitchen making mac ‘n cheese for Zach’s little sister, Stacy.  Daniel made a lot of it, just for the hell of it, just to kill time, even if Stacy never ate a whole lot of anything.  Zach and Stacy’s parents were divorcing, after all this time, out of the blue, and they were both pretty messed up over it.  Things must’ve been pretty bad if Stacy asked to stay with them.  Zach was probably crashed out in some bar again tonight, but Daniel lacked the energy to go looking for him this time.  Lately, it didn’t seem worth it to think of plan anything.  It all went sour. 

Hell, Motorola was even threatening layoffs. 

“Daniel,” Stacy’s voice carried from the living room, sounding sweet and a little excited, “You’ve got a visitor.”

Daniel grunted, spooning a heap of macaroni onto Stacy’s plate, whether she’d eat it or not.  “Yeah,” he muttered, carrying the plate into the living room, and raised his voice pointedly for his roommate to hear him, “Tell Zach he’s late for dinner again.  Where the hell has he been?”

Coming around the corner, Daniel froze at the sight of Katherine standing in the living room, with Stacy hovering about and grinning like the Cheshire Cat.  She looked pale and too thin, the thick folds of her sweater hanging overlarge against her.  Her cheekbones stood out more, giving her face a colder, haughtier appearance.  But her eyes were just tired, pained, full of that sad longing he remembered glimpsing when they first met.  And for it all she was still very beautiful.

“Hi, Daniel,” she murmured faintly, as if afraid speaking aloud would shatter herself.

He stared at Katherine in shocked disbelief, and whatever words he had for Zach died in his throat.  His eyes ran over her, from the familiar shape of her hips, over the swell of her breasts, to the cute little flower of a mouth that she had.  Daniel’s silence only seemed to frighten her, but for some reason he was numb.  They both jumped when Stacy’s plate fell out of his hand, shattering against the wooden floor.  Stacy kept dead still.

Katherine took a step forward as if to help, but stopped.  Her pale green eyes scanned him, the fear and anxiety sharpening in them.  Silent as a mouse, Stacy circled around the two of them and into the kitchen to get something to clean up the spill with.  Her actions seemed to free Daniel to move again, and he walked slowly toward Katherine, glass crunching underfoot.  “Katherine?” he asked distantly, “Oh, my God, Katherine . . . “

She tensed as Daniel reached out for her, but melted easily enough into his embrace.  Her body was cool to the touch, chilled by the evening air outside, as he crushed her against him, burying his face into the mass of her hair.  After a moment, she hooked her arms under his, her hands clinging against his back.  She smelled different, something like dried roses, but she felt good against his body.  Daniel could feel her warming up as he held onto her, rocking her gently, getting used to the reality of her again. 

“Where have you been?” he whispered, his breath hot against her ear, “Are you okay?”

They were interrupted by a sharp yelp by Stacy, and Daniel half-turned to see what was wrong.  The teenage girl was kneeling on the floor, cradling right hand, and he could see the blood trickling down her finger where she’d cut herself on a piece of glass.  Katherine stiffened against him at the sight of blood.  A pout set in on the girl’s face as she regained her feet, looking up at them.  “Shit.  Sorry.  Daniel, could you get me a band-aid . . . ?”

8

Daniel Vera opened his eyes to a cool, crowded hospital room with filtered sunlight coming in through the windows on his right, by the bathroom door.  It took a moment for his hazy, tired mind to realize that he was the patient.  And that he had guests, a young woman in blue and a white doctor's coat, smiling at him with the practiced look of a caregiver, and a heavyset older man with a graying moustache, dressed in a grey polo shirt and slacks.

            "What am I doing here?" he asked, startled by the weakness of his voice, and tried to rise, only to be restrained by the woman.  Daniel's had ached dully, and the startling realization that he was hooked to a mass of umbilical cords and machines left him half-panicked.

            "Daniel," she murmured, moving his IV and cables aside, "Relax.  You're okay."

            "Where am I?" he demanded, glancing around.  The room offered very little in the way of information.  It had the same off-white walls and functional furniture that any hospital would have, perfectly standardized and anonymous.

            The woman flipped back her hair and settled onto the edge of the bed beside him, and proceeded to inspect him with clinical detachment, even as she spoke in the same, carefully modulated Doctor's Voice.  "You're at Denton Regional Medical Center .  I'm Dr. Chandrey.  How are you feeling?"

            "Like hell," Daniel winced, trying to keep still as she shone a light in his eyes.  The anger and anxiety in his voice remained, however.  Except for having his tonsils out, Daniel had never been seriously ill or hospitalized in his life.  "How'd I get here?  What's going on?"

            "You had a pretty bad flu," Dr. Chandrey explained mildly, turning her attention to checking his blood pressure, "You've been here for the past couple of days with a high fever.  You collapsed and a friend brought you here."  Another smile of precise timing and empathy.  "We were starting to worry."

            Daniel's brow furrowed in confusion and he flinched as the blood pressure cuff hissed.  "What are you talking about?  I was trying to get away from her . . . from both of them . . . "  His voice trailed off as the nonsensical events of the other night came trickling back into memory.  The image of Katherine on a darkened street, the colors washing out of her eyes and skin.  Blood trickling down her cheeks, brilliant and shocking against her white cheeks.

            "Like I said," Dr. Chandrey smiled lightly, "You had a pretty high fever.  I'm sure you had some crazy dreams, a lot of people do."

Daniel choked on his own voice, confused and hardly believing this explanation.  But shit like that didn't happen in the real world, right?  He'd held Kat' in his arms, felt the warmth of her body.  There was no way she could be that ghostly creature he half-remembered, could she?

His hazel eyes swept across the woman's smiling face before settling on the gentleman standing at the foot of the bed.  The older man's expression was distant and tired, seeming to wonder what he was doing here while avoiding conversation.   Daniel's sharply questioning tone pulled his attention to the young man.  "Who are you?  Who brought me here?"

"Daniel," Dr. Chandrey admonished.

            The man managed a tight, awkward smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes, laced with pain and weariness.  "My name's Dennis," he explained, his voice low and gravelly, flat with exhaustion.  "I'm Katherine's father.  I came to see how you were doing . . . "

            "Katherine?" Daniel sat up sharply, with a perplexed and rather frightened expression.

            Dennis eyed the young man sadly, seeming to grow wearier from it.  He pinched the bridge of his nose with a wince and adjusted the thick-lensed glasses riding his nose to give himself time to think.  "Unfortunately, I don't think we've met.  Her mother and I live in Colorado . . . but we've heard a lot about you.  I thought we should come by and make sure you were alright."

            Silence followed and Katherine's father struggled to find something to say.  Some effort at explanation seemed best, even though the facts were hazy and poorly explained to him.  The effort reduced his voice to a murmur.  "Apparently she went to see you Saturday and you guys went for a walk . . You must've been sick, because you collapsed in the street.  She was very concerned about you . . . "

            No matter what his memory told him, Daniel's eyes widened and he clutched at whatever straws were offered.  "Is she here?  Where is she?"

            Dr. Chandrey placed a hand on Daniel's shoulder, easing him back down into the mass of starchy pillows behind him.  He stared desperately at Dennis for answers, demanding an explanation, even as the man studied him with sad, almost critical eyes.  So you, his gaze said, Are the man my daughter wanted to marry, whom I've never met until now.  And this is how we meet.

Sensing Dennis' reluctance, Dr. Chandrey cleared her throat and answered for him.  "Katherine's gone, Daniel . . . she died early yesterday morning . . . "

            Quite visibly, Daniel's mind and heart broke apart.  He was barely audible.  "What?"

            "Katherine was diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor," Dr. Chandrey explained in her reasonable voice, betraying some genuine emotion for the first time, "It was in a delicate area; surgery wasn't an option, it would likely have been fatal or left her paralyzed.  Probably she never would have regained consciousness.  Chemotherapy was complicated by the location . . . "

            "Katherine didn't tell anybody," Dennis cut in sharply, running a hand over his bald head, trying to stifle his bitterness, "Not even us.  Her friends said she didn't want anyone to see her suffer."

"The tumor was putting a lot of pressure on the brain," Dr. Chandrey continued, "She was in a lot of pain, and she had to be heavily medicated while she was here.  Apparently a blood vessel ruptured, and she had a massive embolism,"  The doctor paused, restraining the medical explanation to look Daniel in the eye.  "Katherine died in her sleep.  I'm sorry."

            Daniel gradually disintegrated before their eyes.  "She's gone . . . ?"

            "Yes," Dennis answered roughly, his words taught and angry, "They told her she was too sick to leave the hospital, but she wanted to see you again."  He gestured at the mass of machinery and hospital furnishings around them.  "Away from this.  She wanted to say goodbye, I guess.."

            Tears streaked Daniel's cheeks as he began shaking.

            "She was under sedation when it happened," Dr. Chandrey assured him quietly, clasping his shoulder to keep him down, "She was in no pain.  I'm sorry, Daniel."

            Trembling and feeling that he was losing his mind, Daniel brought his hands slowly up and cupped his face.  "Katherine," he moaned in a strangled voice, "God, Katherine . . . "

            "She loved you," Dennis offered in a strangled voice. 

And with that, he shuffled out of the room.

9

            Katherine woke a little after sunset to the cool darkness of her bedroom, gazing at the dinged but serviceable armoire against the wall opposite from the rugged old full-sized bed in which she lay.  Beside it was an ancient dresser with a tarnished mirror, from which her wan reflection stared distractedly back at her.

            Normally, Katherine lay awake in bed for quite a while, drinking in the stillness and letting her mind wander over the veil of thoughts and impulses surrounding her.  It was a prerequisite to sanity during the long evenings, a chance to toy with the distant hunger in her body and reign in her emotions.  This languid meditation served as a partial replacement for sleep – true, restful sleep with dreams – that she no longer enjoyed without Stephen's assistance.  What sleep she had passed in the blink of an eye.

            Tonight, however, Katherine didn't have the luxury of remaining in bed.  Andrew would arrive shortly, if he wasn't already waiting for her in the house proper, to present her to Maggie, the Prince's senshal, for approval.  While Andrew hadn't anticipated any difficulties with the ritual, he had emphasized discreet behavior and proper attire as a childe before the court.  Furthermore, Theresa, Primogen of Clan Gangrel in the area, would also be present.  As the only other city-dwelling Gangrel in the area, Katherine would no doubt earn special attention.  Joy.

            Stephen had at least warned her of this beforehand.  Theresa was fairly old for a vampire, but was warmer natured than most.  She was a friend of Katherine's older brother, who made it possible for her to occasionally enjoy a fairly normal daylight existence.  The trick of this, as Katherine understood it, was Theresa's ability to transfer her consciousness into a living animal for a time, which Lanth could then give a human shape through magic.  It was a trick, unfortunately, that Katherine couldn't fathom and had little hope of attaining.

            Rising silently, Katherine gathered up the pieces of an outfit which she had picked out the night before.  They were her old clothes, but they seemed overlarge and strangely dainty to her now, the belongings of a cheerful, healthy young woman.  She gingerly hung them over her arm as she unlocked the heavy oak door to the basement and ascended the steps to the small bathroom upstairs.

            Leaning against the tiled shower wall, Katherine closed her eyes and let the spray of water pelt her body.  The heat and force of the water would've been unbearable when she was alive, and it was slightly overkill just to wash away a night's gathering of dust, but she enjoyed the harshness of the sensation and the warmth soaking into her slender body.  She even went to the trouble of washing her hair at great length, using a bottle of sweet-smelling shampoo she'd stolen from the grocery store the night before. 

            Patting herself dry with a handful of towels, Katherine lingered in the foggy warmth of the bathroom as she dressed.  Unfortunately, without body heat of her own, the air rapidly grew tepid, and the illusion of warmth and normalcy was all too fleeting.  The nude woman in the mirror, dead white and nearly anorexic in build, was a brooding, grim-faced companion as she pulled on her old clothes.

            There was a white blouse, which she tucked into a pair of black jeans and cinched off with a belt.  Katherine thought she must have lost a couple of inches off her waist from the change, the inability to eat.  A tired, humorless smile crossed her face to think she'd always worried about her weight before.  A pair of blue pumps completed the outfit, though it felt strange and a little uncomfortable to wear them again.  In the time since it happened, Katherine had worn mostly flats or sandals, if she wore anything on her feet at all.

            Staring at her reflection with a blank expression, Katherine hefted her old wooden brush, stroking the rough handle with her thumb, and began running it slowly through her hair.  If it were still growing, it would've been a mess of tangles and split ends the way she'd neglected it over the weeks, though she found herself indifferent to the idea.  As it was, it took a good bit of work to return it to a soft, manageable mane of auburn curls from the wild state it had been in.  Except for the brightening of its color, Katherine thought her hair hadn't changed a bit.  It had always been dead, after all.

            Thinking of Andrew's advice, Katherine went a step further and bothered herself with the hassle of putting on makeup.  Just a touch here and there to warm up her pale, unnatural complexion.  A bit of blush, some eyeliner and shadow to highlight hard grey eyes, and a little burgundy lipstick to cover the faint, bluish tinge of her lips, like those of a drowned woman.  The overall effect was some improvement, adding a softer cast to her startling hair and eyes, but still didn't look quite right.  Katherine was hypersensitive to the scent of the makeup, the floral fragrance of her hair.  Without human warmth and musk, she thought she smelled like a florist's shop or a funeral parlor.

            The emerald necklace Daniel had given her, resting upon the swell of her breasts, used to bring out her eyes.  Now she found it a welcome distraction from the exaggerated colors of her hair, eyes and skin.  Katherine knew she could warm up her appearance further if she expended a little effort, but was mindful of not appearing too human before other monsters.  Particularly not for a monster's rite of passage.

            Andrew was waiting for her when she stepped out of the house, clad in dark business attire and a long coat, and presented an eerie figure in the moon-bathed yard.  The October air was chill against her skin, and she tugged on an old suede jacket as she crossed toward him.  "Are you ready?" he inquired, somber and slightly distant.  Since she moved out of his place, the two hadn't really spoken to each other.  Katherine noted he was wearing sunglasses, probably of Steph's make, despite the thick gloom of the evening. 

            "Yes," Katherine replied, half at a whisper.

            "You look nice," Andrew observed lightly, "Almost like yourself."

            A smirk seemed in order, but Katherine couldn't summon the effort necessary.  Her voice was low and smooth, softer to Andrew's ears than it had lately been.  Thoughts of her supposed funeral the evening before, and watching Daniel's grief from a distance, haunted her.  But how could she explain this to Andrew?  Why even bother?  "Yeah.  Funny, isn't it?"

            Nodding, Andrew offered a thin smile and gestured toward the street.  "I brought the Mercedes.  Might as well arrive in style, right?"

            Katherine eyed him quietly, without answering.  Not angry, for once, just unconcerned.

            "This shouldn't take long," Andrew continued more formally, "But I'm not sure how many will be there.  Normally, it's a more ceremonial affair, but with the Prince out of town, it should go quick.  Some of the others may come to inspect you, though, so keep your cool.  You're on display tonight, don't give them reason to worry about you.  Theresa wants to talk to you for a while, too."

            Katherine cocked her head to one side.  "Alright."

            Frowning, Andrew took a step closer to study her.  Katherine's demeanor as of late had been anything but mild – cold, mocking and sometimes bordering on the perverse.  This sudden quiet didn't bode well for the evening.  It was all but impossible to tell if she was truly calm or coiled and waiting to snap.  "What's up, Katherine?  You're different tonight."

            "It's nothing," Katherine smiled faintly, "Let's get on with it."      

10

Madeline Cross sat in the back of the crowd and kept her mouth shut. She was a newcomer here, unfamiliar with the figures and politics of the city, and she didn't want to attract any more attention than her token appearance necessitated. She didn't seem particularly welcome here, not surprising given the robust population of blood-drinkers in the city. At least one of the other young kindred, a wild-eyed and glowering woman with dark red hair and cold grey eyes, drew away most of the court's attention and enmity. She vented her disdain for the court politicking and the city's search for a new Prince, with flat, blanket insults to everyone in the room.

Madeline hoped like hell there wouldn't be a fight.

The redhead was Gangrel. One of Sabbat blood, in fact, which didn't go over well with the assembled Camarilla crowd, gathered here in the darkness of the bar. She'd learned as much from the comments of various kindred, of the unimpressed and violently angry varieties, which did little to soothe her anxieties. The last thing Madeline wanted was to be dragged into a bloodbath during her first month in a new city. Her presence here wasn't even officially condoned yet, leaving her in a tenuous position. When feuds erupted in cities like this, she knew quite well that anyone who didn't belong was prey for a blood hunt, not just the original troublemakers who instigated the violence.

Anger seethed all around her. The redhead didn't seem to care.

What worried Madeline the most was the presence of non-kindred at a court gathering, something completely unheard of in the other Camarilla cities she'd drifted through. One of them was a normal human in fact, who didn't walk about with the cowed subservience of a ghoul or mortal servant. In fact, though he kept largely to himself, the young man had a bearing of utter indifference to the dangers surrounding them, even as he tried to calm the Gangrel with soft, reproachful words. It probably helped that there was a Garou - or at least something that smelled like a Garou - hovering close by, keeping watch on the assembly. If there was going to be a fight here, it would be bloody indeed.

Finally, someone convinced the redhead to shut up, and she stood silently while the rumblings of battle gradually died down, casting withering stares at all those in the room. Her eyes met Madeline's for a moment, glowing softly as a shadow fell upon her features, and Madeline looked away. She didn't want any trouble here, let alone from hotheaded shape-shifters like the Gangrel. You could always count on a Ventrue or Toreador to talk before they attacked you, like a clichéd movie villain, but Gangrel were more than happy to rip your throat out without explaining their grievance. If they even had one. Blood was blood, hate was hate, death was death.

Finally, the Gangrel turned her attention on others, as if daring the elder kindred to attack her, but although the tension in the room hadn't faded, at least it wasn't approaching critical mass any longer.

"What are you doing here?" a voice whispered in her ear.

Madeline glanced over, a spill of dark hair veiling her face. It was a middle-aged man, at least by appearances, with a beard and thick dark hair going every which way from his skull. He wore little round black sunglasses that did nothing to conceal the pained look in his hazel eyes. His tone was earnest, but not unkind. He seemed just as wary of the political proceedings going on as she did.

"Who's asking?" she murmured back.

"Frederick Heidegger."

He offered his hand. Bemused, Madeline shook it.

"So why did you come tonight?" he asked again.

"I'm new to the city," she explained, sotto voce, "I thought it best - safest - to make an appearance, since this is the first court event since my arrival. The last Prince refused to condone my presence here, too many kindred in one place already, though she also allowed me to stay until the new Prince is elected."

"You're afraid," Frederick remarked softly.

Madeline's facial muscles tensed slightly, but she refused to frown. It never did to show weakness in front of another vampire, at least until you knew you could trust them. As far as any of them could ever be trusted.

He paid no attention. "Where did you come from?"

"New York."

"Why did you leave?" Frederick inquired, watching the proceedings.

"I was fleeing the Sabbat," Madeline explained quietly, "Their presence was beginning to overwhelm the Camarilla presence in the area. It became too chaotic and too dangerous for my tastes. I knew Mexico and much of the South is under Sabbat control, but this part of Texas seemed like a bastion of relative stability."

"I see."

Frederick was silent for a long moment. Then, turning back to her, he spoke in a low, but direct tone of voice. "So you came here tonight out of fear of reprisals. Do not act in fear, my dear. Others can sense it wafting off of you like smoke. This is usually a peaceful city, from what I have gleaned, but it is hardly a safe one, particularly with this many kindred in such a tightly packed area. We feed off each other just as well as mortals. Don't let all this false civility fool you into thinking otherwise."

"That's easy for you to say," Madeline remarked.

"What do you do?" Frederick asked, ignoring the comment, "In the world, that is."

"I used to work in antiques. Now I do freelance art for various people."

"Ah," Frederick nodded, "A Toreador."

Madeline smirked. "It pays the bills, Mr. Heidegger."

"Doctor Heidegger."

"Who is that woman," she asked, changing the subject, "The Gangrel?"

Frederick was silent, rubbing the ball of his thumb against the bristles of his beard. There was some discussion about the process of electing the new Prince going on in the center of the chamber, with a wan, thin woman standing under a bright light, announcing the rules. "Her name is Katherine Ducote," he replied finally, "She's a childe, barely a year old, made by one of the Sabbat who used to roam the area. Those around us would have killed her already, if she did not have certain friends."

"She's a fool, going off like that."

"She feels very strongly," Frederick said solemnly, "Which is more than I can say for most of us." He glanced at her through his sunglasses, in which the woman speaker was reflected in a distorted curve. "Some of us are able to put the horror into the back of our minds and pretend to be human. Some of us cannot bear to embrace the lie. In her own way, she is the most honest of any of us."

Madeline regarded him with the suspicion she was being baited into some verbal cul-de-sac, though he seemed to forget her in favor of the court proceedings when she did not immediately respond.

"What are you a doctor of?" she asked finally.

"Anything and everything that catches my eye," Frederick replied, in what she presumed to be an ironic tone, "And more than a little I don't wish to see. However, I think it would be best to continue this conversation away from this place. When everything is finalized, of course. There might still be trouble yet."

"You seem to be expecting it," Madeline observed.

"Part of me hopes for it," he muttered, "But I try not to invite such things."

11

            Katherine closed her eyes as she ran the brush through her hair, listening to the thick, whisking sound.  The warm humidity of the shower still lingered, warming her, though perhaps overmuch.  The prickling of her skin felt like the beginnings of sweat – and bloody sweat she didn't want to consider – but nothing came.  And so she worked, and enjoyed the feel of her hair for the first time in months.  Some of the hardness had gone out of her after killing Billy, after proving herself to her friends.  Katherine Ducote, the new woman she was becoming, had value after all.

            As she set the brush down onto the slick countertop, a soft voice murmured, "Katherine."

            Blinking, Katherine looked about cautiously, peering at her too-white reflection in the mirror, grey eyes staring back coolly.  The bathroom door was closed to keep in the fog, water trickling down the polished surface of the mirror, and the voice had been too quiet to be anywhere but right behind her.  Ghosts, perhaps?  Her imagination?

            "Katherine," the voice said again pleasantly, "You look beautiful."

            It was a low, masculine voice, with the slightest hint of a purr in the words.  The sound of it was familiar, like something out of a dream.  "Who's there?" Katherine inquired to the still air, eyes narrowing.  Her friends weren't above playing pranks on her, and there were any number of other things that might enjoy whispering in her ear unseen, as Stephen said.

            Katherine shivered as she felt something touch her.  It felt almost like fingertips gliding across the surface of her cheek, or something stroking her soul, deep inside of her.  "It's Billy, of course.  Don't you recognize me?"

            Freezing in place, Katherine gripped the edge of the counter and peered at herself in the mirror.  The room was absolutely still except for the swirling fog, but the voice came again from that dark place within her.  "You're quite beautiful," Billy whispered again, "And you always will be now."

            "You're dead," Katherine growled, "Get out of my head."

            Billy's voice laughed, stirring a flutter of madness in the back of Katherine's mind.  When he spoke, his words rippled through her mind, touching all the secret places of her soul.  "I couldn't leave even if I wanted to," he offered, "I'm part of you.  You made me part of you when you diablerized me."  She sensed a soft, affectionate smile.  "I'm proud of you, Katherine."

            "Fuck off," Katherine whispered.  And for a time, he was silent.

12

Katherine slipped out of White Rabbit in the early evening, after discussing arrangements for the night with Aleen and Jonathan.  She left on foot, wandering out across the vast expanse of dry grassland and hills surrounding Denton proper.  Even vampire eyes couldn't always pick out the stars in the night sky when surrounded by the electric glow of the city.  But out here, she could see more stars than she could remember ever seeing.  More stars than a human being could possibly see.

            Not that most of them bother to look.

            At one point, she stopped to look back upon the roadhouse.  It was an oasis of neon and fluorescent lights in the darkness, seemingly still and silent from this distance.  Aleen was finishing up her shift now, leaving sweet Jonathan to run things while Katherine was out.  She had to wonder what the young man thought about his boss sleeping away the days and slipping out at night.  But a smile, a joke, and a good paycheck kept most mortals from asking too many questions.  Besides, there were plenty of other night creatures in this city as it was.

            Sweet, sweet Jonathan.  Thank God you're so fucking stupid and charmed by a pretty girl.

            Katherine trotted the distance to the city.  Out here, the darkness allowed her the freedom to push herself, to fly across the ground with only the whisk of cold wind against her face to keep her company.  Arms akimbo, hair flying out behind her.  At times she could sense animals watching her flight, perhaps even Theresa's wolves, recognizing her as another creature like themselves.  This and feeding afforded the only real peace she knew, the exhilaration washing out other thoughts. 

            When she reached the edge of the city, Katherine slowed down, winding her way through the university toward Fry Street and Cement City .  The rush of flight had dulled her hunger some, but it came back quickly enough once she was around people again.  Since leaving Stephen and Jolie's household, the desire to hunt had resurged after being quashed for weeks.  Katherine knew she didn't have to hunt, that she could use the stuff Stephen gave her.  But it didn't soothe the wound-up frustration in her belly, demanding release.

            Instinct.  Stop pretending it's a disease or throwing psycho-babble at it.  It's what you're supposed to do.  It's the only thing that makes you feel better.

            Katherine flitted through the students and goth freaks milling about Fry Street , dancing around hapless mortals who never even noticed her, on her way to the slums.  It seemed strange now to think that, early on, she'd considered the club kiddies and college girls her equals, even as she preyed on them.  It was almost like chasing down reflections of herself then, the naïve young women in the flirty clothing and shy smiles.  Now they were just faces flashing by, quickly forgotten.

            They're very pretty, aren't they?  Whiling away the hours between boring jobs and classes to feel better about themselves.  They envy you.  You're better than them now.  Free.

            Thoughts of hunting always brought back the same memories, her possible pasts.  The urgency of Daniel's embrace in the street outside his apartment, his arousal matched by her hunger.  The scent of him.  The taste of his mouth.  The image of him walking alone through the university, perfectly within reach but untouchable.  The screaming that built up inside her when she thought about never seeing him again, never being allowed near him again. 

            He knows what you are.  Nothing is ever out of reach if you want it badly enough.

            There were thoughts of Stephen, too, more intense in some ways.  When she was alone like this, the shell of guilt she wrapped around the memories started to crack a bit, and the experiences trickled back into her mind.  That look in his eyes when she died – tired, sad, bitter.  The fear coming off of him as she pressed against him that night, after failing to kill herself.  That far-away emptiness of his in the garden, unable and unwilling to lie even a little to make her feel better for a while. 

But mostly she thought about that fleeting moment in his living room, knowing Andrew was coming to take her away, knowing she knew she was going to take him.  The dizzying exhilaration of knowing Andrew would kill her for doing it, and not caring a bit.  When she faced the moment honestly, Katherine knew that even Stephen's death was a rapturous idea then.  The desires never acted upon, the joy of having him, all coming up in a desperate surge.  Biting the soft flesh of his throat, drinking him in, hoping everything he was would somehow fill the emptiness inside her.

I know what you taste like.  And I want more.

Katherine stopped and looked around her.  Cement City , near Stephen's place.  Surprisingly, the area was dead still, but she could scent warm bodies somewhere nearby, stirring her hunger further.  She walked slowly down the street, silent in her soft-soled boots, listening to the wind for the sound of human beings.  It was strange that her hunger was an ally now, leading her on.  It hummed in her head and through her veins, muffling rational thought but remaining controlled.

She hadn't hunted like this in weeks, since before Egypt , and giving over to her hunger was a welcome release.  Not long ago, Katherine would've been terrified to walk these streets alone.  Now she felt invulnerable and deliciously strong. 

Come on, motherfuckers.  Come victimize me.  I'm right here.  Remember me?

After a few minutes of strolling down the street, the feeling struck.  Someone was watching her.  Their stink was thick in the air now, too.  Sweat, cologne, cigarettes.  Slowing, Katherine paused to look around, hair brushing against her cheek as the wind caught it.  They weren't obvious, but they were down the street a short distance, around the corner of a crumbling brick building, in an alley.  Two of them.  Surprisingly cautious, all things considered.

Stuffing her hands into her jacket pockets, Katherine resumed her leisurely pace down the sidewalk, glancing around at the buildings and burned-out streetlamps like a tourist.  She idly wondered who the two men were, what they wanted.  It amused some busy corner of her mind to think about what they looked like based upon their scents.  As she neared, her insides tightened, hunger clenching into a fist. 

I bet I can kill both of you, and nobody will miss you.

One of them was waiting at the other end of the building when she came around the corner, a lanky blond in a Dallas Cowboys' jacket and jeans.  He snorted and eased off the wall as she turned boldly into the alley and approached, slowing to a stop a few yards from him.  Gummy, bloodshot eyes flicked over her in amusement.

"Hello," Katherine purred.

The man studied her for a moment before bursting into derisive laughter.  He couldn't even look straight at her without giggling.  "Shit," he laughed under his breath, "You're either lost or got shit for brains to be walkin' round down here at this time of night."

Katherine smiled darkly.  "I'm lost."

"No shit," answered a Spanish-accented voice behind her.  Katherine didn't bother to turn around, just listened to the click as the other man cocked his pistol near her ear.  The blond chortled softly as his colleague pressed the gun barrel against the back of her head.  The heat coming off of his body felt luscious, and the hunger coiled tight, eager to spring.  She felt giddy, her smile widening.  "Hey, chica," the Latino muttered, patting her down, "You got anything I like?"

Katherine grinned, flashing teeth, and let the hunger snap.

What followed was a blur.  Spinning on her heel, Katherine slapped the pistol from the Latino's hand and punched him in the face with a wet crunch, sending him sprawling to the ground.  The blond barked a shout of surprise before she caught him by the throat and slammed him into the wall.  She let him flail helplessly for a moment, choking him, before sliding in to feed off him.

An unknown time later, Katherine found herself squatting beside the blond man's body, which was crumpled against the side of the building.  His neck was broken, and his blood was in her mouth, on her teeth.  She felt its heat worming through her insides.  Frowning, she looked about for the Latino.  His body lay a short distance away where she saw him fall.  He hadn't moved.  Rising to her feet, Katherine walked over to him.  His face was a bloody mess, unrecognizable, the skull caved in where she'd punched him.

Katherine's brow furrowed, conscious thought creeping back in.

One punch.

Flexing her gloved hands, Katherine collected the man's pistol.  It was surprisingly light, the metal gleaming in the faint light here between the buildings.  A thick growl rose in her throat, annoyance and confusion, and she fired two shots into the man's head, splattering it across the pavement.  Returning to the blond, she emptied a few more rounds into his chest and set the gun beside him.  Quickly surveying her handiwork, Katherine turned and hurried off.

Once she was a safe distance away, Katherine slowed to a normal pace.  There was no guilt or sadness this time.  In fact, she felt only a grim satisfaction riding upon a dull roar in her head as she unwound.  The lack of regret confused her more than anything.  Not long ago, any murder by her hands was an atrocity, regardless of who they were or what they'd done.  This time, she felt more than a little hollow, and she didn't have it in her to get upset.

Some people gotta die, right?  Isn't that why you come here, to pick on the shit of humanity?  Who's going to miss them?

"Katherine?"

Stopping, she turned around to see Stephen walking down the sidewalk after her, dressed in jeans and a blue shirt.  His long black hair swung against his shoulders as he stopped to study her with a questioning expression.  Katherine stared back blankly for a long moment with glassy grey eyes before, with an inward lurch, the words came to her.  "Stephen," she frowned, "What's up?"

"Are you okay?"  He glanced over her, puzzled and concerned.

"Yes.  Why?"

Stephen gestured toward her hand.  "Um, you're . . . dripping . . . "

13

The air was warm when Katherine awoke, and she could feel the vibration from the band below, through the tiled wood floor of her loft. Something electronic from the sound of it, probably Angelica playing DJ while the rest of the band had coffee and cigarettes.  Wispy fragments of her disjointed dreams fled as she sat up, wrapped in a deliciously soft cotton blanket, and stared into the darkness.  Her artificial heartbeat was thumping in her chest and her skin felt feverish to the touch.  If it weren't for Stephen's magical gifts, Katherine didn't know she'd realize how upset she was.

            Katherine combed long, bony fingers through her hair, brushing stray waves and curls from her face.  Whatever remained of her dream fell apart by the time she was able to think clearly again.  Something about flaming and flying monsters, and an overwhelming sense of both elation and confusion.  Katherine found it vaguely comforting that her mind could still produce some perplexing imagery, but considering the sense of Billy's presence and recent events, she was a little unnerved by it as well.

In a daze, Katherine slid out of bed and shuffled across the rugs littering the floor, pulling on a thin gown as she went. The illusion of real life in her body was quite convincing, enough so that the cold wood between the tiles was a small shock after the cozy cocoon of the bed.  Katherine's fingers strayed upwards to toy with the grey pearl resting on its chain against her chest.  Stephen's little blessing.  

Your precious lie, so you can pretend this isn't real. Stop fucking hiding from yourself.

The translucent material of the gown floated about her legs as she drifted into the bathroom to shower and get dressed.  Her thoughts turned back a week to their conversation in the woods and the terribly brief experience of actually being alive again through magic, whether it was an illusion or a fleeting reality. The roar of blood in her ears as her heart beat, the painful need to breathe again, the feel of real hunger – not this clawing thing stirring in her veins even now.  Another of Stephen's gifts, one of many.

Why be hungry?  Why feed so little, so often, when you can take your fill?

Jonathan glanced up from the bar as Katherine came downstairs, dressed in a black top and a wrap skirt in dark, muted colors.  On stage, Franco was playing an embellished version of "Hotel California" dripping with Spanish guitar, bringing a faint smile to her lips.  Katherine was always amazed at how silent the crowd could be when the band played, capturing an eerie stillness on their faces.  The warm air was thick with smoke, the smell of food, and the scent of live bodies milling in the dimness around her. Becka, one of the orphans who worked part-time at the roadhouse, passed by with a pitcher of tea and quick smile of greeting.  

"You look piqued," Jon commented when Katherine sat at the bar.

Piqued?  Idiot.  I'm more than just "piqued".

She shook her head, smoothing the fabric of the skirt over her legs.  When was the last time she wore one of these?  It seemed like ages.  She felt the eyes of the mortals on her, taking in the overly thin frame to which her outfit clung.  "I'm fine, Jon," she replied softly, "Just bad dreams.  How are things tonight?"

"Quiet."  Jonathan shrugged, and the red glow from the stage played on his square-cut features as he glanced toward the band. Franco was standing stock still in the center of the stage, his fingers dancing across the fret board as he soloed his way through the end of the song.  Kat idly traced the veins in his throat.  "Somewhat quiet.  Christine dropped some papers off for you to sign earlier; I left them on your desk."

Katherine nodded.  Her pretty, overly zealous attorney was always bringing things by for her to review or sign off on.  As useful as Christine was, she certainly wore out her welcome. "How are the kids?"

"Alright, I imagine," Jon sighed, leaning against the bar, "Not used to regular work."

They're orphans.  You can take any of them and tell Stephen they ran away.

Flirting with a smile, Katherine spun on the stool to watch Franco's build up to a good old fashioned mariachi crescendo.  Now the crowd rose to whistle and cheer him on, riding the wave of the song to ear-splitting volume, and the band joined in with a roar of their own.  Katherine grimaced as the noise flooded over her, brushing a hand over her ear in reflex, glad that being dead meant she was at least immune from going deaf.

It was then that she observed a familiar-looking young woman walk into the room from the main entryway, pausing only to speak with Sam Stanley, the lanky blond doorman.  She was petite and blonde with a kittenish, sly face, dressed in a low-cut sweater and jeans.  The woman scanned the crowd and grinned at the din of music and clamoring mortals before her.  Katherine followed her with her eyes as the blonde drifted toward the bar, watching the band. Karen.  That's who it was.  What the hell was she doing here?

Looking for you, obviously.  Checking up on you.  If she sees you, you'd better kill her.

Gripping the edge of the bar, Kat considered dropping out of sight then and there, but Jonathan was watching, so no such luck. Still, she couldn't allow Karen to see her here, not when the woman she knew was supposed to be dead.  It had been half a year since Karen dropped in on her at the university, overfriendly and full of questions, and Katherine had nearly forgotten about her.  But she certainly remembered Karen's persistence.

And then, in a wash of chords, the song ended.

Sliding off the stool, Katherine started to slip off into the cheering crowd, but tensed as Karen's eyes swept over her.  Kat stared back coolly as Karen focused on her and smiled sadly, almost embarrassed.  But there was a faint jolt of recognition as Katherine studied the woman, something in those aquamarine eyes of hers.  The memory of the afternoon they met carried with it a nagging sense of unease, like a buzzing in her head.  She remembered having a miserable headache at the time and for hours afterwards, and how her eyes hurt and blurred in the sunshine.

She knows you.  You can't let her live.

Sweet, observant Jonathan followed Katherine's gaze. "Friend of yours?"

"I'm not sure," Katherine replied quietly.

"How about a drink?" Jonathan offered, "You look like you need it?"

"No, thanks," Katherine shook her head, "I'm not thirsty . . . "

Liar.

Karen gingerly approached and leaned against the bar, taking in Katherine's appearance with a solemn, pained expression.  Kat wondered how different she seemed, a fragile-seeming ghost of herself with grey eyes.  The buzzing in her head increased as the blonde took a seat beside her, then subsided with a familiar sensation,  like warmth rippling through her dead body.  The same feeling she had seemingly long ago, in one of Andrew's bedrooms, speaking to the person claiming to be her brother.

She's played tricks with your mind once and now she is again.  What are you waiting for?

"Would you like something to drink?" Jon asked of Karen.

"Yeah," the blonde nodded, not looking at him, "Scotch.  With ice."

The smell of Franco Guerra's sweat and cologne alerted Katherine to his presence as he bounded up behind her, grinning, and brushed a hot hand over her shoulder.  She caught Karen's appreciative glance at the young man and smirked. Franco was rather short for a man, only a little over Katherine's height, but he was fairly handsome and had a certain oily charm all his own.  "Good evening, ladies," he purred, sweeping between them, "I hope you are enjoying tonight's entertainment."

"I don't think I've ever heard 'Hotel California' done quite like that," Kat commented, not taking her eyes off of Karen, "But the crowd seemed to like it."

"They appreciate true artistry," Franco chuckled, "The trick to any good music is always to have your own unique flavor.  Something people can recognize as yours, regardless of what you're playing."

Pretentious little prick.

Taking the drink handed to her by Jonathan, Karen smiled tightly.  "It was great."

Franco grinned and rubbed the back of his neck, glancing over to Katherine.  Karen's smile faded once his back was turned, and she gave Katherine a meaningful look, sipping her drink.  "I heard you're looking to learn how to play?" Franco asked, the words rolling succulently, "If it is the guitar, I'd be happy to teach you."

"I'd like to learn the lute," Katherine answered, flashing a hollow smile.  

Karen lifted an eyebrow with a reserved smile.

"The lute?" Franco's brow furrowed, "Why the hell would you want to play the lute?"

"It's her instrument," Karen observed, her smile widening slightly.  Katherine shot her a  curious look, but Karen's eyes only gleamed violet in the red light pouring off the stage.  Waiting for Katherine to dismiss poor, befuddled Franco.  "It's always been her instrument."

So that's why you're so interested.

"How can it be her instrument if she doesn't know how to play it?" Franco muttered.

"I own an antique lute," Katherine explained gently, squeezing the young man's arm, "I got it during my trip to Egypt a few months ago."  She felt some satisfaction from the startled look on Karen's face this produced.  "It's a beautiful instrument, and I'd love to learn to play it."

"Ah, well," Franco frowned, "I can ask around, I'm sure someone I know can teach you."

Katherine nodded, managing a polite smile. "Thank you.  I'd appreciate that."

"Franco," Jonathan piped in and gestured toward the other end of the bar, "I need a hand with something, do you mind? "

"I have another set coming up in a few minutes," the young man returned dismissively.

Kat pressed Franco's arm again, more forcefully. Cold grey eyes met his questioning look.  Get the fuck out of here already, will you?  "Go and help him, Franco.  I'm sure it will only take a moment."

"As you like," Franco sighed, turning briefly to Karen with a slight bow, "I hope you enjoy the rest of the evening."

Karen tipped her glass to him, smiling wryly. "Thanks.  We'll see."

Katherine turned her attention back to Karen as the two men walked away a distance, half-listening to Jonathan's whispered admonishments and Franco's frustrated rejoinders.  She silently thanked him for allowing her and Karen to be alone.  Cocking her head to one side, Kat studied the blonde woman expectantly.  

"Lanthinel told me where to find you," Karen explained, "Can we talk in private?"

Thoughtfully tapping a fingernail against the bar top, Katherine looked away and into the sea of faces around them.  Truckers huddled in dark booths, half-dozing with their beers.  A few bikers playing darts in the back corner, one with an arm looped around a willowy blonde in leather and denim.  Most of the rest, college students, some businesspeople.  "You're fae," Katherine murmured, more to herself than Karen.

"Yeah."  Karen smiled hopefully.

Katherine wearily turned back to her. "And you know what I am?"

Her smile fading, Karen nodded and finished off her drink.  Katherine closed her eyes and took a deep breath of the smoky air of the room, gathering her thoughts.  Her artificial heartbeat rang in her ears, angry and excited at the same time, and she swallowed down on the faint edge of hunger lurking within.  "Come on," she offered, "I have a room in back where we can talk."

Katherine led the young woman across the room and through a set of double doors in a quiet corner of the roadhouse, closing them behind her just as the band struck up a slow jazz number.  The private room, with her office in back, rarely saw much use and the air smelled dusty as a result.  But it was a cozy enough place, with comfortable, elegant furniture, bookshelves, and soft lighting.  A pleasant place for the occasional feeding.  

"Make yourself comfortable," Katherine offered, gesturing to an easy chair.

"Thanks," Karen murmured faintly, avoiding the chair and picking instead the most comfortable recliner in the room – Kat’s favorite, in fact – and waited patiently for her host to join her. Katherine busied herself with glancing over the papers Christine had brought earlier, and checking e-mail, taking her time.  "Would you like another drink?" she offered the blonde, glancing over her shoulder.

"No, thanks," she returned, "I’m fine."

After a beat, she added, "Does my presence here bother you?"

Of course it bothers me.

Katherine paused and set her papers down, running a hand through her hair with a languid movement.  Karen’s eyes were sharp and watchful, studying her with a respectable degree of caution.  "I’m not sure what you’re doing here," she confessed softly, "Though I'm sure I can hazard a guess, considering.  But the person you knew died months ago . . ."

"I just wanted to check up on you," Karen replied gently.

Isn’t that what they all say, when they just want to be sure I’m still in line?

Frowning, Katherine turned about and leaned against the hard corner of a bookshelf, regarding the young woman critically. "Well, I hope you like what you’ve found?"

"I’m sorry about what happened," Karen offered weakly, looking down, "I was trying to help you before, when I came ‘round."

"Everybody was trying to help or protect me apparently," Kat returned flatly, grinding her spine into the sharp edge of the wood.  The pain this produced helped focus her thoughts away from the faint murmur of hunger and anger squirming inside of her.  Her voice lightened with a sigh.  "But no one was there when I needed them."

The pain in Karen’s expression deepened, but she didn’t say a word.  Nodding slightly, Katherine looked down at the plush carpeting, making out random designs in the swirl left behind by footsteps and vacuums.  I’m sorry was a pathetic understatement, but she couldn't expect her friends to predict the future.  Not accurately anyway.  "So why are you here?" she inquired somberly, looking up.

Karen’s eyes drifted away slightly as she sought words.  "Do you know who you were?"

"How do you mean?" Katherine stared at her, eyes cool.

"You know what the fae are," Karen explained slowly, groping for a suitable approach, "Karen is my human name, the one the world knows and that I was born with.  But my true name is Gwynnion . . . I’m a nymph, if that means anything?  I awakened to myself at a very young age, and I was raised by kin who knew who I was."

Katherine’s expression remained neutral. "I know the basics."

"Well," Karen murmured, "You were one of us, too . . ."

Katherine stopped the woman with a lazy gesture of her hand, fingernails gleaming in the lamplight.  Sadness and frustration warred for dominance in her eyes. "Yes, I know.  Ariel Kildare, a nymph like yourself. But I don’t remember anything about her, really.  Maybe a few images I've caught in dreams, and even those I'm unsure of . . . I learned about this only after I died, when it was too late, from a friend of mine . . "  Katherine touched her breast, relishing and loathing the feel of the artificial heartbeat at the same time.  "If Ariel is still here, I gather she's a work in progress like the rest of me."

"Who isn't?  Ariel wasn't perfect, but she and I have been friends for a long time," Karen explained gingerly, "Like sisters.  The last time we were together was in 1938, as far as I know, and I haven’t seen her since . . . I've tried to follow the bloodlines, but we're notoriously hard to keep track of.  When I heard about you, I had to come and see you.  I had to wake you up if I could."

"You did a marvelous job," Kat muttered.

A flash of anger crossed Karen’s eyes before being subsumed into the guilt already there.  "Yeah, I deserve that. But you were fighting it really hard at the time. You wouldn’t let anyone through that shell of yours.  I figured you needed more time, and by the time you called, something else had come up . . ."

Katherine gave her a dour look.  "You know, I don't remember most of this."

"Yeah," Karen frowned, "It’s the Mists. You were still asleep then . . ."  

Sighing, she stood and walked towards Katherine, but stopped at the cold look of warning she received.  "I shouldn’t have abandoned you so soon," she conceded, "I mean, I could’ve snapped you out of it, but I didn’t want to risk driving you away or hurting you.  It’s not easy awakening at any time, let alone when you’re already an adult. You were already in the middle of your life, the change would’ve been very confusing.  I wanted to wait until you were ready . ."

"Well," Katherine smiled sadly, "It’s not likely to happen now.  So I'm not sure what you hope to accomplish by coming here?"

Releasing a long breath of frustration, Karen stuffed her hands into the back pockets of her jeans and studied Katherine.  In years, Katherine was the older of the two of them, though there was little indication of it in her glassy smooth features.  But Karen thought she was still awfully young, with all the anger that came with it, despite it all. "Maybe not, but you can try to make that connection again, right?  Lanthinel says you guys are working on ways to fix . . this."

"Yes," Katherine agreed, "But they spent years working on ways to undo the curse without much luck.  I can’t afford to pin my hopes on a magical cure that may or may not be coming.  I'm having to . . . feel my way around."

Karen lifted an eyebrow.  "Does that mean ignoring who you are?"

"I’m not Ariel," Katherine answered lightly, "But no, it doesn’t.  I am trying."  A wry smile touched her mouth, and she affected a Spanish accent.  "Why do you think I’d like to learn the lute?  I mean, why the hell else would you want to play the lute?"

Karen’s eyes brightened, and she managed a faint smile of her own.  There was something familiar in this woman, or whatever Katherine was, after all. "Don't get your hopes up," Katherine warned her softly, "I'm becoming something more than Katherine, maybe even Ariel, but lately all I hope for is not to lose any more of myself, and that's becoming harder all the time.  I'd like to learn, 'make that connection', but I can't be the person you want me to be."

"Not yet," Karen offered.

Katherine smiled faintly and shrugged.  "If you'd like to stay in the area, I'm sure I can arrange some accommodations for you.  But I should warn you, shit happens in Denton , and I'm not always the best hostess you could hope for."

"Honey," Karen sighed, "Shit happens everywhere."

14

Through night vision binoculars, the White Rabbit Roadhouse was a hazy box of a building amidst a greenish, washed-out sky and a sea of grass, dotted here and there by miniature stars – the tall lampposts in the parking lot, the neon glow around the doorway, the occasional vehicle headlights as customers wandered off down Interstate 35 West. Very little moved, very little happened.  And so it had been for hours, until the air inside the nondescript van grew stale and spicy with cigar smoke.  Around 11 o'clock , Benito opened a window to let some of the tobacco stink out of the cabin.

"Is there any coffee left?" he inquired, glancing into the back of the van where their private arsenal was stored, from his Harley motorcycle to firearms to the thermoses stacked in a stainless steel rack on the wall.  Like any good operation, they were well prepared and equipped.  He wouldn't have it any other way.

Domino was reclining on a make-shift pallet in the corner behind Lee's chair, smoking Marlboro cigarettes from the pack in the man's pocket.  Of the three of them, her clothing was most paramilitary in style, all blacks and browns, worn tight on her lithe body.  She even wore her hair real short, just a tad shaggier than a buzz cut.  Benito thought she got more of a kick out of commando fashion than they did.  Such was the life of a grown-up tomboy, he supposed.

"Nope," Domino shrugged, exhaling a cloud of smoke, "I only made two pots."

"Well, shit," Benito muttered, turning back around in his seat to watch the silent night world outside the windows, and brushed away the lanky hair that fell in his face.  Lee ignored the both of them as he continued scanning the building in the distance through the binocs, the machine whirring occasionally as he zoomed in on something particular that caught his attention.  "We've been out here for hours," Benito reminded him, rapping his fingers on his knee, "And we haven't seen anything. Maybe Caesar was wrong about this one."

Domino glanced up at the young man with pale, critical eyes, but said nothing.  She only took another drag on her cigarette.  Lee continued ignoring him, scanning the horizon for signs of life, or otherwise.  "Caesar's been wrong before," Benito continued at a grumble, sliding down in his seat to prop his legs against the dashboard, "It would not be the first time.  He has money and power, but information is only good if used before the sell-by date."

"We're staying here," Lee stated flatly, still scanning.

"Are you sure you haven't seen her," Benito commented in his lowest, most deeply accented voice, "Or are you just using that to check out girls?"

Still, Lee didn't take his eyes off the roadhouse, tracking the course of a semi that growled into the parking lot, steered by a grizzly, ancient-looking trucker.  A small flock of college girls stumbled out of the front doors after he passed, giggling and carrying on as they shuffled toward their car. "Caesar said she's here," Lee said frostily, "So we're staying here.  It's still early."

Benito sighed, rubbing his stubbly cheeks in an effort to wake himself up.  How many sleepless nights had they spent like this, waiting and watching for monsters and spooks who never showed up?  "Why would a vampire want to hole up in a roadhouse anyway?" he wondered aloud, "It seems like a pretty big risk."

"Plenty of food," Domino murmured, without irony.

"Why don't we just go in, eh?" Benito suggested, gesturing at the building, "It worked at Lion's Club in El Paso .  We were in and out in no time."

"We got our asses kicked, hombre," Domino reminded him, "I've still got the scars, thank you very much. And I don't want to hear Caesar complaining for months on end again about how much money he had to pay to bribe the police and fire department to keep it quiet."

"Not to mention the collateral damage," Lee added quietly.

Benito threw his hands up in the air with a low sigh of frustration, eliciting a grim chuckle from Domino.  "Ahhhhh . . . we killed the fucking vampires, didn't we?  And this time, Caesar says there's only one, and a new one at that."

"Enough high explosives will kill anybody," Domino shrugged.

"We're not Buffy the fucking vampire slayer," Lee grunted, lowering the goggles for just a moment to give Benito a withering scowl.  "This is a mission and we do it right, we don't run in half-cocked and end up in the shit. Clean and precise, that's always been the rule."

"We're not in the military anymore," Benito returned in a sing-song.

"Exactly."  Lee frowned as he swept the binocs across the horizon before turning his attention back to the building.  "We're not protected by anybody but Caesar, and he'll fuck us over if we cause enough trouble."  He grimaced faintly.  "Besides, what we're doing is more fucking important than the shit we used to do.  Gunning down a bunch of rag heads and wannabe guerillas over gasoline prices . . . "

"Caesar also said this one's got friends," Domino pointed out.

Benito sighed and glanced out the passenger side window at the scrabble of grass and parched soil around them.  "We could at least send someone inside to check the place out," he suggested irritably, "Find out if she's really inside or if she got out while we've been dicking around out here."

Shaking his head, Lee muttered the man's name before his voice trailed off.  At the roadhouse, a young woman pushed her way through the heavy double doors. The image was fuzzy at this distance, too grainy to make out much in the way of features, but it looked like she was dressed in a waist-length jacket and blue jeans, curly hair falling about her face.  Immediately, a point of bright red light, like a laser sight, lit upon her chest where her heart would be.  The Sign.

"What?" Benito inquired, sitting up a bit, "Do you see her?"

"Yeah," Lee nodded.  He panned the binoculars as the thing which looked like a woman crossed the parking lot, cutting through the college girls talking and laughing outside their car, and headed for a greenish-grey (in the scope anyway) Ford Mustang.  The red light bobbed along with her, plainly marking her.  "She's getting into a car."

"Let's hit her now," Benito suggested, easing back into an upright position.

"Shut up," Domino snapped, rising to look over Lee's shoulder.

Setting the goggles aside, Lee glared at Benito. They could barely hear the noise of the Mustang's engine in the distance as it started up, and Lee kept one eye on the car, still marked with the Sign.  All the nebulous plans and idea he'd been hatching through the hours came to mind, and he ran through the possibilities for a course of action. "Recon is half the job, shithead, you know that."

"We've got her in the middle of nowhere," Benito remarked, "We can hit her on the freeway without having to worry about anyone else getting hurt."

"Caesar pays extra for information," Domino commented.

"I don't give a shit about the money," Benito growled, "She's a fuckin' monster."

Lee interceded with a swat of his hand between the two of them, starting up the van.  "And she might lead us to more.  We know where her lair is, she's not going anywhere unless we fuck up and give it away.  We'll see what she's got to show us, make sure she's a clear target, and make the hit later.  The important thing is nobody gets hurt."

The three followed the vampire as she cruised down I-35W and into Denton proper.  She kept strictly to the speed limit the entire way, following all traffic signals and rules to the letter, as good an indication as any that she wasn't human.  Lee kept behind her a fair distance and took a looping course through the 20mph zones around the University of North Texas , keeping as low a profile as possible.  Domino and Benito slid into the back of the van to get ready, just in case.

The vampire parked on the street outside one of the clubs in the Fry Street area, slipping through the throng of teenagers and university students milling in front.  Lee parked the van around the corner, next to a rundown two-story house behind a chain link fence, which would have looked haunted if it weren't for the expensive Infiniti sedan in the driveway and the candlelight flickering in the windows.  Denton , Lee decided, was freakin' weird.

"I'll go in," Benito volunteered once they parked, reaching for the door handle. 

"Like shit," Lee muttered, stopping him, "Remember last time?  At the park?"

Benito made a face and raised a hand in defense. "Hey, hey.  That one wasn't my fault."

Frowning, Lee lifted his wrist and rolled back his sleeve to show off the claw marks, still fresh and pinkish against his dark skin.  "Okay," Benito conceded, grabbing the other man's arm and pushing it down, "So maybe things got a little out of hand.  But they started it."

Lee pulled his sleeve back down. "Yeah.  You two stay here.  Call if there's trouble."

The club was the usual once Lee got inside; techno and dance music played at teeth-rattling volumes, and young people gyrating and having drinks from the bar along the wall.  The lights were dim as he made his way through the crowd, uncomfortably warm in his grey trenchcoat.  It took quite some time to make the rounds of the place, stopped at every turn by flailing limbs or laughing, half-drunk kids stumbling in random directions.  It was the perfect place for a vampire to hunt: lots of warm bodies, poor lighting, and plenty of noise to cover up any problems.

Near the end of his circuit, Lee caught sight of the brilliant red light through the crowd, and grimly plunged through the crush of bodies toward it.  The vampire and her prospective victim, a young man with wavy black hair, huddled together at a table in the farthest corner of the club.  The guy was very drunk and grinning broadly as she whispered into his ear, her face masked by a wave of hair.  The Sign gleamed in laser red upon her torso, and Lee fingered the sawed-off shotgun under his coat as the vampire moved in to nuzzle the man's throat.  But he was in no position to act in here, alone and surrounded by innocents. Such as they were.

Fucking crowds, Lee thought, tensing up as he saw her teeth break the skin.

Lee watched in disgust and growing anger as the vampire sucked gently at the young man's throat, watching the artery pulse and stand out against the skin as she drank.  The poor guy was in rapture, head lolled back with a blissful expression on his face, as if she were any pretty girl giving him a good time.  It lasted only a minute before the vampire drew back from his throat, licking the wound away. There was blood on her teeth.

As she eased back into her seat, watching the dazed and still drifting young man with a hollow, faintly sad look, the vampire brushed her hair back and glanced around quickly for observers.  Lee froze as her gaze passed him over, half-hidden behind a small crowd of dancers, and recognition belatedly hit.  Katherine. 

Lee wracked his brains in a momentary panic. Timothy said Kat had died several months ago.  Brain cancer, apparently.  He'd gone to her funeral and seen her body in the casket.  Hell, he'd admitted to crying when they lowered her into the ground, and as a general rule, Tim didn't admit to anything.  And here she was, looking like something between a ghost and a corpse, weirdly beautiful, walking around and drinking blood. Lee didn't know whether to feel horrified or angry or even elated to see her again.  He hadn't seen her since before he went into the Navy, when she was a shy, fey teenager.

Confused and shaken, Lee slumped against a wall, studying her in disbelief.  It was clearly her, but she'd changed.  Katherine seemed almost emaciated, her cheekbones standing out distinct against her perfectly smooth, white face.  Her limbs were very slender and seemingly fragile, and the jacket she wore – which should've been misery here in the warm club – was clearly intended to conceal some of the sharp angles the weight loss produced at her ribs and waist.   The most startling aspect, though, were her eyes, the pale grey color of slate, which swept over the room and the man beside her with a wounded but very predatory look.  Except for the flame of her hair, it was like all the color had been drained from her.

             Lee watched, gathering his thoughts, as Katherine leaned over and whispered something to the young man, who nodded with that dreamy smile.  At least he was still alive.  She ran a hand over the man's cheek and down his chest, and for a moment Lee thought she would return to feeding on him, but she merely climbed gracefully to her feet.  The mask of her face betrayed a hint of pain and weariness, which didn't fade as she wandered through the crowd toward the exit, leaving the young man to get over what he'd recall as only a drunken stupor.

The crowd slowed Lee as he tried to follow, and when he escaped into the fresh air outside, he caught sight of her on the sidewalk, staring off down the street to where the van was parked.  Glancing that way himself, he spotted another woman there, closing the fence gate at the old house. This one had a vampire look about her as well, but the sign didn't mark her.  She was petite, with glossy black hair down to her waist, dressed in a velvet smoking jacket, low-cut blouse and a black skirt. This woman glanced curiously at their van before crossing the street toward the club, lighting up a cigarette along the way.

Lee's stomach clenched as Katherine walked slowly toward the woman, fearing for this potential new victim.  But Kat seemed to think better of it and turned away again, heading back to her car.  She wasn't quick enough to avoid notice, though, as the dark-haired woman's eyes followed the vampire with a startled, rather worried expression. This woman slowed to a stop a ways down the sidewalk from Lee, and watched Katherine drive off in her Mustang before resuming course.

You know what she is, Lee thought to himself, How?

"So what's the deal?" Benito asked once Lee was in the van.

"Just a feeding," Lee explained distantly, starting the engine.  Part of him had wandered back into the filing system of his memory, pulling out old thoughts and information. "He's still alive, she didn't take enough to hurt him.  No other leeches here."

"Okay," Benito grimaced, "So do we hit her now?"

Lee paused.  "Not tonight.  I want to do some checking first.  She's not going anywhere."

15

            Grey eyes.  Cat's eyes.  Like marble.  Cold.  Vacant.   

            Katherine studied the emptiness of her eyes in the bathroom mirror, following the feminine curve of the lid and lashes inwards to the dull color of the iris.  Above were the dark arches of her eyebrows, frozen into the shape and slenderness she'd plucked them into seven months ago, looking into a similar mirror in Daniel's apartment.  She'd been in a rush then, half-dressed and damp from the shower like she was now, a pile of doctoral research demanding attention.  Zachary and Daniel had been in the bedroom: Zachary joking about something, Daniel watching her hurried, delicate movements. 

            Leaning in, Katherine pressed her forehead to the cool glass for a moment, still staring at her doppelganger's eyes.  The trivial moments of that day ticked silently through her thoughts to the tapping of water droplets in the shower.  The Ocean Blue playing on the living room stereo, leading Kat to dance lightly with Daniel around the table.  A nameless cashier at the bookstore grinning as she handed over a cup of coffee and a fresh scone.  Tall, winsome Rebecca's invitation to go out to dinner with she and Andrew, dressed in that vaguely western fashion of hers.  The almost overpowering fragrance of mown grass and flowers as she walked back to Zach's car, never to make it.

            Such thoughts naturally led to comparison with the present.  The unnoticed trickle of blood and bone from her knuckles in cement city.  Quivering on Angelo's cold floor, her body shredded by bullets and the taste of Stephen's blood in her mouth.  The dawning horror in Daniel's eyes in the darkened street and the temptation to take him.  Watching the sky turn to terrifying brightness on Stephen's lawn, digging her fingers into the earth to keep herself from running.  The sad, helpless longing as she stood over the deteriorating corpse of a person she was supposed to be and never knew.

There will be other chances.

            A shiver went through Katherine's body, but it didn't subside.  The trembling only grew worse, and her face pinched in pain as a trickle of blood ran down her cheek.  Katherine knew she should clamp down on the feelings before they overwhelmed her; she knew very well she had an untrustworthy reputation for breaking down so often.   But here in the privacy of her loft, she just let herself sink to the ground and cry until blood smeared her hands, face and the linoleum tile.  It was, after all, a reputation well deserved.  And when the sobbing passed, she licked herself and the tile clean.

            Later, Karen found Katherine in her office with the safe open and a red velvet jewelry box in hand.  She was dressed for travel in a grey suede jacket and jeans, with a quietly thoughtful cast to her face, and she looked up with a faint smile as the young woman entered.  "You cut your hair," Katherine murmured, gesturing to the blonde sheet across the Karen's cheek.

            "Yeah," Karen nodded, "I figured it was time for a change."

            Katherine flashed a smile and nodded, setting the box down on the desk.  Closing the door behind her, Karen hugged herself and joined Katherine at the desk.  "You okay?  You drifted through the room earlier like a ghost.  Didn't say hi to anybody."

            "Like I told you," Katherine joked, "I'm not always a gracious host."

            Clucking at the diversion, Karen watched as Katherine slid off the old silver ring she wore on her right hand and placed it in the box.  She stared at it for a moment before reaching behind her to unhook the necklace she wore, a little thing of silver clasping a grey pearl.  "You're going somewhere?" Karen inquired, walking around the desk.

            "Yes."  Katherine closed her eyes with a little flinch as she got the necklace free.  There was an imperceptible shift then, Karen noticed, as the vampire grew still and cool.  Katherine put the necklace with the ring and closed the box.  "There's a power of attorney and other papers in the drawer so you and Christine can handle things here.  I left my cell phone upstairs, so don't bother trying to get a hold of me."  She paused with a little smile, looking up.  "And I suggest letting Aleen and Jonathan take care of the daily details."

            "Where're you going?" Karen asked, somewhat suspicious. 

            Katherine shrugged lightly, "I've no idea."

            "Are you coming back?" Karen pressed.

            There was a moment of silence.  Katherine didn't look at her as she locked the jewelry box inside the safe with a dull thunk.  "I think so.  Besides, the city should be safe – if not safer – without me for a while."

            Sighing, Karen rapped her fingers on the desk to get Katherine to look at her.  "What are you running away from?  What happened?"

            "Nothing," Katherine smiled, shaking her head.

            "You realize you're a horrible liar, right?"

            Katherine laughed, a dry sound like leaves rustling.  "Yes."

            "They may look for you," Karen reminded her.

            "Maybe," the vampire accepted, shrugging, "I'm sure they could find me anywhere on earth if they really wanted to.  But I think they'll understand.  And I will try not to get into any trouble while I'm gone."

            Karen frowned slightly.  "I'm supposed to be looking out for you, you know."

            "Good luck," Katherine countered, grinning wearily.  "I'll be fine.  I've got money, transportation, and my swords if I really need them.  I'm not likely to be mugged and I don't plan on staying in any one place long enough to attract attention.  So consider it a vacation."  She slid on a pair of sunglasses.  "I'll send you a postcard."

            Karen smirked.  "Uh huh."

16

Katherine rolled back onto her haunches as the dream-visions of Oludimare's scale passed into the night, feeling dazed and slightly disoriented.  The cool breeze rippling across the lowlands of the Sonoran Desert stirred the loose hair around her eyes, where it fell free from the ponytail she'd put it in last night.  Her clothes were dirty from sleeping in the earth, leaving little streaks of dirt on her arms from when she rolled her sleeves up.  The glow of the firelight caught in her hair and her pale grey eyes, casting a tinge of warmth onto her otherwise icy features.

There was a stirring within her in response to the fragments of Ariel's life, some spark of recognition for the dark-haired young woman.  It took a few minutes before the flush of warmth and life that seeing through her eyes brought faded, leaving Katherine cold and aching once again.  She stared into the flames for a long while, enchanted by the fear and exhilaration it brought, before reaching over to her pack.  From the leather folds of the knapsack, she withdrew the photograph of Elisa which Stephen gave to her.

            "So now you know," a voice murmured.

            The vampire glanced over her shoulder to see two feminine figures standing at the edge of the firelight, observing her with quiet eyes.  Fortunately, by this time, Katherine had stopped being surprised by sudden, stealthy arrivals.  She was even less surprised by the identity of her visitors.  Karen, the blonde photojournalist she'd left in charge of White Rabbit, and a thin, dark-haired companion who eyed Katherine over the rim of her wire-framed glasses.  They reminded Katherine of the witches in Macbeth.

            Rising, Katherine put the photo in her pocket.  "How long have you been watching?"

"Only for a brief while," Karen replied gently, joining the vampire in the circle of light, and clasped her hands behind her back.  She was dressed lightly, with a leather jacket for warmth in the desert chill.  Her companion looked away, staring into the night sky with a disinterested look on her face.  "It took a while to find you.  Fortunately, Ilsith" – she gestured to the brunette – "helped me find you."

            Katherine waited, lifting her eyebrows.

Karen flashed a small grin, crystal-blue eyes glittering, and studied the vampire.  Some of the pain and anger had burned out of Katherine's eyes since she'd last seen her, revealing a clearer glimpse at the young woman within.  "Sorry to intrude.  I hope you don't mind?  I thought now would be a good time for that talk of ours.  I'm just surprised you waited so long to burn the scale of Oludimare?"

"I wasn't ready," Katherine frowned, "And how'd you know about that?"

            "Faeries have always kept close tabs on each other," the blonde answered.

            Ilsith interrupted, her voice soft.  "Especially in this age, for survival."

            "I checked in with your friends to see if they'd heard from you," Karen continued, "You've been gone a while and I was getting worried.  Lanthinel told me about some of your adventures and put me in touch with Ashley and Laura."

            Nodding, Katherine questioned Ilsith:  "Don't I know you?" 

            "Yes, of course," the woman smiled thinly, "You would know me as Tina Dobson.  I was a student of yours at the university, in freshman psychology.  When you were alive.  I believe we last met at Crawford's bookstore in downtown Fort Worth last year, while you were still in chrysalis.  A pity you did not complete it."

            "You're fae as well," the vampire murmured, comprehending.

            "Ilsith is one of our better seers in the area," Karen explained lightly, a bit amused at this apparent coincidence, "I've known her in other times myself, though I didn't know until recently that you'd met before."

            "Our connections survive," Tina shrugged, "There is no surprise in this meeting."

            Katherine smiled faintly.  "Yeah.  This seems to happen a lot."  Folding her arms over her chest, the vampire walked away a short distance, making a semicircle around the fire.  "Why are you here, though?  I came out here to clear my head.  I thought you understood that I didn't want to be disturbed?"

            "Yeah," Karen smiled sheepishly in apology, "But you know a lot more now than you did before.  There are some things I'd like to tell you, to help you understand better.  And hopefully to help you with what you're going through?"

            "I'm dead, Karen," Katherine chuckled softly.

            Karen held up her hand.  "Gwynnion."

            A smirk touched Katherine's face, but she let it go.  "Unless I can find a way to change that, there's not much I can do but make the best of the situation.  I'm tired of raging against the situation constantly, with little hope on the horizon.  I can't keep putting myself and the others through that."

            "I think there are ways," Karen murmured, "But in the meantime . . . ?"

            "This life serves a purpose," Tina interjected, scolding Katherine at a whisper, "It is not for nothing that you were born into this time and this situation, Ariel Kildare.  You tire?  Yes, but we tire also of your morbid self-loathing and despair.  And some of us have a great appetite for such things, as you well know."

            Katherine blinked at the woman, startled.  Karen glanced over at her companion with a warning look, to which Tina sneered, but she lowered her voice to a more neutral tone.  "Your cousin feels I speak too bluntly, but time has proven that little else is of any use with you.  Seven hundred years ago, you outgrew this childishness that is so often inextricable from your natures.  Do not fritter away my precious time with this self-indulgence."

            Glaring at the young woman, Katherine went rigid and forcefully quashed her anger.

            "Ilsith," Karen reproached softly, "Don't be so hard on her.  She's been through a lot."

            "Yes, yes, yes," Tina muttered, "Coddle her if you like.  I have no taste for it."

            Karen hesitantly lay a hand on Katherine's shoulder.  The vampires eyes turned to her, glowing balefully.  The blonde managed a weak smile of reassurance.  "Ilsith has lost whatever tact she might've had, but she is trying to help in her own way.  Try not to pay attention to all the vitriol."

            "'Ignore the old woman'," Tina snorted, "Mind your own manners, Gwyn."

            Breaking away from Karen's grasp, Katherine walked around to the opposite side of the fire.  Karen ran her hands back through her hair with a sigh.  "Ilsith, you're not helping.  Now hush."  Cool blue eyes turned back to the vampire, who observed them grimly.  "Katherine?"

            "Yes?"  Even-toned.

            "Have you ever been enchanted by one of our kind before?"

            Katherine cocked her head.  "Yes, by Lanth and Ashley."

            Nodding, Karen asked, "Would you mind?  It may make this a bit easier."

            "Why not?" Katherine sighed, "Anything is better than listening to you two argue."

            Karen smirked faintly but ignored the comment, circling around the fire to join the vampire.  As she walked, she procured a small crystal flask from one pocket of her jacket, which was half-filled with a honey-colored liquid.  "Just a taste," she murmured, seeing Katherine's curious look, "Since you can't drink it."

            "Eh," Tina grimaced, "You wouldn't want to."

            "Shut up," Karen muttered under her breath.

            "I heard that."

            A mocking smile crossed Katherine's features at the exchange, which only made her seem more feline in Karen's eyes.  She paused a moment, flask in hand, to offer the vampire a quiet look.  Silently asking permission to proceed rather than continuing toward Katherine, whose defensive posture spoke volumes as to her unease.  After a few moments, Katherine closed her eyes and held out her hand for the vial, which Karen unstopped and passed over.  Tina feigned indifference to them both.

            Katherine brought the flask to her lips and caught a few drops of the liquid on her tongue.  It was sweet and vaguely smoky in flavor, like honey.  The bright, rich taste only grew stronger as she handed the flask back, and Katherine swallowed instinctively as it burned her tongue.  A knot of nausea and pain rose immediately as it passed through her, worming its way into the useless tracts of her necrotized digestive system, and she closed her eyes to ride it out.  Once the pain passed, however, a sense of warm intoxication spread through her.  For a moment, she heard a whisper of music, but the melody was too quickly lost.

            "Katherine?"

            The vampire opened her eyes onto a sensual world.  The darkness of the night was as velvet, the allure of the flames like a sunrise.  The cool air tasted of the smoke from the fire and an indefinable spicy scent.  Katherine was aware for the first time of the soft weight of her own hair brushing against the nape of her neck, and the roughness of her clothing. 

            Gwynnion was a vision.  Long-limbed and delicate, with porcelain skin and a great mass of white-gold hair tumbling down to her waist, dressed in a gossamer gown and robes of blues and greens.  Only the eyes remained the same, crystalline blue.  Ilsith was her opposite.  Despite her outwardly youthful appearance, she looked now to be ancient.  Stringy silver hair swung around her thin, gaunt body, two tiny points of light where her eyes should be.  She was dressed in an old sackcloth robe.

            "Don't look so amazed, Ariel," Ilsith mocked, "It is nothing you haven't seen before."

            "What did I drink?" Katherine asked in a small voice.

            "It's only nectar," Gwynnion replied lightly, smiling, "Gathered in the wilds, with a touch of our magic.  Nothing to be afraid of."

            Taking in her changed surroundings, Katherine's eyes fell on the dark shape of a black cat lounging near the fire.  It was a scrawny thing with tufts of white fur at his ears, wearing a silver and leather collar.  Its drowsy gold eyes narrowed as it met her gaze with a seemingly sardonic expression.  "Pitiable creature," Ilsith muttered, glancing at the animal, "Fiercely loyal, and yet you mistress still doesn't remember you."

            "He's mine?" Katherine asked weakly.  The cat looked away, as if stung.

            "He belongs to himself," Ilsith countered at a whisper, "Regardless of loyalty."

            Gwynnion touched Katherine's cheek to regain her attention.  The faerie woman's touch was warm and soft.  "He is chimera, a creature of dreams, like we once were.  He's been your companion for quite a while, since before Christ.  He was around when I came to visit you in college, watching over you, waiting for you to awaken.  And he's still waiting."

            "What's his name?" the vampire inquired, bemused.

            "Satan."

            Katherine laughed.  "Satan?"

            Gwynnion offered the vampire a slanted smile.  "You named him, not me." 

The vampire started toward Satan, curious, but Gwyn stopped her with a gentle touch on the arm.  "I wouldn't," she advised in response to Katherine's questioning look, "He might be loyal, but you're not who he's waiting for.  And he can be dangerous, no matter how harmless he might look." 

The cat growled softly, giving Gwynnion a look.  She ignored him.

"Sit down, Katherine," Gwyn suggested kindly, gesturing toward the rocky soil, "Relax.  I don't know if it will do you any good, but I'd like to tell you everything I can remember.  For my own conscience at least."  

17

Early evening.

The stars were coming out in droves already, brighter and clearer than they ever were in the city, and the few high clouds which streaked overhead were lost in the darkness. The moon was new, invisible, and the last violet glow of sunset was dying on the horizon. A horizon which seemed impossibly far away yet near enough to touch.

It was beautiful here.

Rugged country. Mountains and ravines winding in all directions. El Capitan's sheer face blocked her view of the eastern sky but the west was clear enough where the landscape fell steadily away. The forest was there - pines, firs and quaking aspen - hugging the higher slopes and valleys. Beyond this there was only badlands. The highway was in that direction, not to mention the Mustang, hidden away just off the road. Still, no one traveled through here except park rangers and the occasional tourist, and it wasn't likely the car would be found anytime soon.

Katherine stood near the edge of the ridge, taking it all in. She wore the shredded remains of her blue jeans, caked with blood, and her torn grey tank top because they were the only clothing she had. Everything else was down below in the car. They provided little protection against the cool desert wind, especially this high up in the mountains, but she didn't mind. The cold felt good against her skin, a soothing balm upon the many scars which lined her arms, middle and legs. And at least the boots were more or less intact.

Besides, it was the first time she'd been able to stand in days.

She leaned against a wooden branch she'd found near Saul's cabin, using it like a staff. The rough texture of the wood felt good in her hand and against her cheek as she lay her head against its reassuring weight. Her long auburn hair fell in curls down her back, more or less clean, and wisps of it stirred in the breeze.

Looking down, Katherine felt the most absurd desire to fly.

The wind kicked up, whistling softly through the valley, and she shivered. Her body was feverish with hunger, sick from the blood of animals, and Katherine knew she would need human blood to finish healing properly. Nothing less would do. Nothing less would be acceptable to the thirst which plagued her. But at the moment the Beast was distant, lurking in the gathering dark. It was too beautiful here to think of much else.

Besides, where would she find a human anyway?

Katherine looked down at her free hand, frowning at how tight the flesh was across bone and muscle. She wasn't much to look at, she knew. Not for being so hungry, nor for so many scars. There were days of healing ahead, and then only if she had more blood. Much more blood. But at least she looked more or less human.

A hawk cried somewhere in the distance, impossible to tell how far. Her eyes strayed toward the sound, trying to locate the animal, but even with such excellent night vision it was hopeless. As it was, the stars were dazzling, growing brighter as the last lingering light faded in the west. It made her head ache to stare at them for very long, no matter how hard she wanted to do so. The peaceful beauty of Saul's domain captivated her.

Katherine turned at the sound of his approach, which she'd grown accustomed to over the past two weeks. Soft, padding feet against the rocky soil. Hardly quiet, but then Saul didn't need to be. He was master of this little valley, the only Garou present as far as she knew. And as he'd already proven, he had nothing to fear from her.

After a few minutes, Saul crested the hill, his massive lupine form giving her chills.

No, nothing to fear at all.

At least not without her blades.

The werewolf had a deer slung over one enormous shoulder, its head dangling limply from a broken neck, and he bared his teeth in what she'd learned was a smile, grim though it was. But the sight of the animal made her vaguely nauseous, her stomach - or what was left of her stomach - churning at the thought of feeding upon it. Saul meant well, of course. But her body wouldn't tolerate animal blood any longer. It craved more.

"It's my meal," he growled, seeing the look in her eyes, "Get your own."

Katherine laughed, grasping her stick in both hands.

"What's so funny?" Saul rumbled, "You're on your feet. You can feed yourself."

"No, it's not that," she murmured, avoiding the sight of the dead animal, "Thank you for taking care of me and all, especially since you're the one who crippled me in the first place. But I can't have animal blood anymore. It's making me sick..."

The Garou grunted and turned away, heading for the cabin.

"I need human blood," she sighed.

"That's your problem."

Katherine laughed again despite herself. "Are there humans any near here?"

"No. I've already driven them away."

"Thanks."

Another indifferent grunt.

"Will you try to stop me?" Katherine asked.

Saul glanced over his shoulder, his eyes glowing balefully, but he rumbled low in his throat as if chuckling. "I spared you didn't I? I came here to get away from the herd, not to protect it." Bristling, his gaze strayed past the Gangrel, scanning the starry backdrop behind her. "The night is early. You have time."

With that, he padded around the side of the cabin to clean the deer.

"This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship," Katherine sighed.

Using the branch as a walking stick, the Gangrel staggered down the rocky slope and headed northwest toward the highway. There were rest stops down there, she knew, as well as park areas for tourists and rangers. And even farther west, in the flatlands far below, there was the small village where the rangers and their families lived. Katherine doubted she was strong enough to make it that far in one night, but it was there if absolutely necessary.

It was even harder going than she expected. The terrain was wholly unforgiving. Several false steps sent her skidding down the slope, dislodging rocks and gravel from the soft soil, and more than once she tumbled and struck a tree or boulder with jarring force. By the time she reached level ground again Katherine was covered in scratches and bruises. Her blood lacked the potency to heal even these minor wounds, and she grimaced against the dull ache throughout her body as she shuffled toward the road.

She had no idea just how far the highway was from Saul's cabin. Although she'd explored this area for some time before the Garou attacked, he kept his dwelling safely hidden and her memory of the journey there was hazy at best. It was some time before Katherine found herself among familiar landmarks, and she was moving more slowly than she would've liked. Not that she had much choice, of course. One of her legs was half-lame, and she was too weak to force herself.

Part of Katherine wondered if Saul were watching her progress from near or afar, though she doubted it. Would he even care if she drove away and never saw him again? Sure, the werewolf had shown her compassion, even guilt over the way he treated her. And while she'd shared with him the basics of her life story, Saul hadn't told her anything about himself. They were hardly friends.

So why wasn't she pissed at being mauled by him in the first place?

Well, it's not like you've got any other friends, she scolded herself.

It was over three hours before Katherine reached the highway, and after traversing through the mountains behind her it felt strange to set foot upon smooth pavement again. The road curved around a sheer drop here, a flimsy guardrail the only barrier between a passing vehicle and hundreds of feet of open air. Chilly wind whipped against the Gangrel's light body, threatening to knock her down, as she glanced over the edge at the flat desert surface far below. A cluster of lights, nearly lost in the vast distance, announced the presence of the village. It might as well have been on the moon.

Katherine glanced left or right in search of cars. There were none visible for miles.

She started walking again toward the lone rest stop she remembered passing, growling in her chest at the hunger in her belly, the thousand aches and pains in her limbs, the limp with which she was forced to travel. So much for preternatural speed and grace, she thought. Out here, half-crippled, she was no better off than most mortals.

There wasn't anyone at the rest stop, of course. Why should there be? Most people had more sense than to park in such a desolate area, away from lights and civilization. After all, if your car wouldn't start again in the morning, you'd be screwed. If you were fortunate a park ranger might happen upon you. Otherwise it could be hours before a passing traveler stopped to render aid.

An hour later, Katherine came upon one of the tourist centers. Following the signs, she trekked up one of the small paved roads which led off from the main highway, sighing in frustration as it wound leisurely through a small valley. Before long, however, she found herself standing in the small parking lot out front, exhausted but staring hungrily at the single pickup truck parked there. Ford F-150. Brown-colored, parks and recreation vehicle. And there were lights still on inside the building.

Working late, presumably.

Good luck at last, she thought.

The butt of her walking stick clopped against the concrete as she shuffled toward the building, clenching her teeth against the pain in her leg, which had worsened considerably from the constant exertion. As she entered the gazebo, however, glancing at the small wooden benches and informative plaques arrayed around a single lonely patch of cactus, the interior lights clicked off.

Blinking, Katherine stopped in her tracks and waited.

After a moment, the park ranger emerged, locking up behind him. He was tall, muscular and well-tanned, probably in his late thirties, with a duffle bag slung over his shoulder. Neat, carefully trimmed moustache, jacket thrown on against the chill night air, chocolate-colored cowboy hat tipped back on his crown. Totally oblivious to her existence. But it was the smell of him which captured Katherine's attention - dusty masculine odors, aftershave and sweat, and surging underneath it the heat of living blood.

She gripped her staff tightly, growing dizzy, swooning.

Keys jangling in hand, the man turned toward the parking lot and yelped upon seeing her there, lurking in the gazebo's shade where the exterior lights provided softer illumination. Startled, his hand went to his hip, reaching for a pistol.

"Don't hurt me," Katherine heard herself say, "Please, I need some help."

The ranger stopped and squinted, getting a better look at her.

Judging from his wince and the concerned look which came upon his face, Katherine could guess how she must've appeared to him. Haggard, dirty, covered in cuts and bruises. Half-starved. Without a jacket or anything on her arms, the thinness common amongst Kindred was painfully evident. The smell of him swam around her, the sound of his heartbeat achingly close, and Katherine shuffled closer to him. The scent of blood had its claws in her then, and she tried unsuccessfully not to moan as her fangs pushed out to full extension.

"Jesus, you scared me," he sighed, starting forward, "What the hell happened to - "

The ranger stopped and blinked, sensing something wrong about her. His keys dropped to the ground with a clatter, and his hand trembled as he pulled the pistol on her.

"What the fuck?" he whispered.

In a daze, Katherine reached up and touched her face, wondering what alerted him. Her eyes were fixed on the artery at his throat, throbbing softly with his anxiety, and the smell of blood was within easy reach. The problem became immediately obvious. Her lips were drawn back in a hungry grimace, her teeth gleaming wetly in the light. Not only this, but her eyes were probably shining as well, dull with thirst, and because of Saul she had no sunglasses to hide it.

A weary sigh poured out of her.

"I'm sorry," Katherine breathed, the words clumsy because of her fangs.

The ranger hesitated, unable to comprehend what she was, and didn't act on his instincts because of it. Before he had the chance, Katherine snapped out with the heavy tree branch, cracking him across the head and sending the pistol falling from his grasp. The duffle bag hit the ground with a dull thump. Staggering backwards, clutching his head, the man shouted for help as the Gangrel fell upon him, smashing him up against the wall. In a moment, her teeth sank into his throat.

Bliss.

The blood poured down her throat in a steady gush as Katherine sucked at the wound, crooning in pleasure. She let his heart do most of the work for her, relishing the thunderous rhythm of his pulse and sinking down to the ground with him. Now that she had him her touch was gentle, stroking his hair where the hat had fallen away, and lightly gripping his back to hold him against her. The taste of him, rich and smoky, was delicious. Katherine shuddered as new life spread throughout her body, warmth washing over her in steady waves, like sinking into a hot bath. The pain in her leg eased then stopped entirely, and a strange itching sensation spread across her skin as the scars started melting away.

All too soon, however, the blood came in a slower flow as life bled out of the man cradled in Katherine's arms. And then, as his heart fluttered and nearly stopped, she dropped the limp body to the ground, where he fell and rolled over with a wet thud. Blood coated her lips and teeth, her nostrils flaring as she drank in the aroma of it, and she proceeded to lick it away in a lazy, delicate fashion as she watched the last moments of life pass. The ranger was already unconscious, the Kiss and rapid blood loss had seen to that, for which Katherine was distantly glad. There were worse ways to die, she knew, than falling into a hazy darkness, insensible to all pain and fear.

The man feebly clung to life for nearly a minute. At last, however, he expired with a long, rattling sigh, and there was no more movement.

Katherine sat there for some time, staring at the corpse.

She was still hungry.

But she was warm for the time being, and the immediacy of the hunger had faded. The cold breeze wasn't nearly so biting with the heat of the man's blood inside of her, though without a furnace of her own the wind would quickly strip it from her. Frowning, Katherine stripped off the man's leather jacket and threw it on, zipping it all the way up, hoping to stave off the inevitable for a little while. It was light, sadly, meant mostly for daytime use when the desert was warm. But it was better than nothing, wasn't it?

Leaning forward, Katherine licked away the bleeding wound at the man's throat, resisting the urge to continue drinking from his corpse. There wouldn't be much left anyway, and dead blood was even less satisfying than that of animals.

At least she was stronger, however. Almost as strong as normal. Katherine's own lightness surprised her for the nth time as she climbed to her feet, and a quick examination showed that many of the scars had already healed. Those few that remained, where the deepest and most hideous wounds had been, would require yet more blood. Yet more rest. The Gangrel sighed as she turned and started walking away, pleased to find that her leg was more or less in proper working order, and wondered whether she should retrieve her Mustang or return to Saul.

Near the start of the road, Katherine turned and glanced back at the man's corpse.

Hollow words, weren't they? Meaningless after what she'd done.

But she couldn't. She kept staring.

Grief swam through her, bringing a ripple of nausea with it. Katherine tried to harden herself against it, to keep it from overcoming her as it so often did, but it lurked in the back of her head like a fever. From here she could barely make out the shadow of his corpse in the gazebo, and she doubted that anyone would discover it until tomorrow morning at the earliest. Part of her wondered why he'd been here so late. Fortunate that he'd been here, of course, but it was his own damn fault for...

No. Don't lie to yourself. You did what you had to do. What you wanted to do.

Tearing her eyes away, Katherine scanned the area around her, searching for anything else to fixate upon. The shimmering curtain of stars, the grey color of the landscape under her night vision, the lonely rustle of the wind over the desert. Again, it was no use. Her gaze drifted back to the man's body, half-hidden there in the yellow light of the gazebo. This place was beautiful, yes, she thought to herself. But it was also a terribly lonely place to die, stuck out here in the middle of nowhere.

Check on the car, she decided, make sure it's safe. Then I'll go back to Saul.

Smoothing the jacket over her chest, sniffing uncertainly at the man's strange scent, Katherine reluctantly turned and loped away.

The Gangrel was long gone when a shadow emerged from its hiding place on top of the tourist center, upwind from where Katherine and the ranger had struggled, and dropped down into a crouch next to the dead man's body. Saul hovered there for a moment, the coattails of his grey duster splayed out upon the concrete, watching where the Cainite had gone. The wind tousled his long black hair, and only when he was certain that Katherine would not return did he glance down at the corpse.

Saul knew this man, though the name escaped him. Sneering, he pulled the duffle bag over and ripped the zipper open. Ranger uniform. Grunting, he rifled through it, and he was thoroughly unsurprised when he discovered the two bags of white powder hidden underneath, bulging with their contents.

Satisfied, Saul dropped the bag and rose to his feet.

Scratching his beard, Saul smiled in the direction Katherine had gone, as if she were still standing there, staring at the ranger with such crushing guilt in her eyes.