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Message-ID: <40890asstr$1045307402@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Veavitdpoh <non@existent.email.address.com>
User-Agent: Xnews/5.04.25
NNTP-Posting-Date: Fri, 14 Feb 2003 23:46:59 EST
Subject: {ASSM} "Lupercalia" by Veavitdpoh
Date: Sat, 15 Feb 2003 06:10:02 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

"Lupercalia", by Veavitdpoh

I'm not sure what possessed me to write this.  Though I powered through 
this in less than one day (February 14th, naturally), interspersed with 
bathroom/bookstore breaks, it's long, it's exploratory, it's disturbing at 
times, it's not stroke material.  I've never posted here before, or written 
anything like this before (well, nothing formal), so take it easy on me,  
please?  C'mon, don't flame me.  I'm funny.

This remains my intellectual property, copyright 2003.  You have permission 
to print, repost, and so on, but not to publish or place in any medium not 
guaranteeing free and unlimited access to all.  It's probably not legal for 
you to read if you can't buy a Playboy; what you do about that is your 
concern, not mine.

lexusgodface(@t)yahoo(d0t)com

---

Call me Todd.

Okay, Ishmael sounds better.  A lot of things would sound better right 
there, names with dignity and noble strength and all that.  Something 
Shakespearean, or biblical, something like Mercutio or Jacob.  But my 
name's Thaddeus Edward Barnes, thank you social climbers.  So call me Todd.

Call me other things if you want - everyone else does.  Call me your king, 
'cause I'll inherit the earth.  I'm meek as all hell, because it's hard to 
be a powerhouse of a personality when you're five foot eight and small... 
not even skinny, or thin, just small.  Proportionally weak.  My nickname 
tends to be "teddy bear", and just because most people don't think about 
how easily a teddy bear could get shoved into a locker doesn't mean it 
defaults to positive.  Okay, I'm in college now.  No more lockers.  Still, 
teddy bears get shafted.  It's a dog eat dog world out there, and I'm the 
milk bone.

Call me a loner, 'cos I'm a jack of all trades and a member of none.  I've 
got a computer, but I wouldn't want to try opening it up.  I'm in the chess 
club, and lose two out of three matches.  I've got a rifle I take down to 
the range, and I do okay so long as the target does me the favor of staying 
perfectly still exactly fifty feet away.  I write now and then, but I've 
got more rejection slips than manuscripts... I'm not good enough at 
anything to be a part of the mentality, even if I was a joiner.  Spectator, 
but not participant - isn't that what democracy is all about?  I'm the 
ultimate voter.

Call me tired of commercialism.  Of popular media.  Call me sick and tired 
of Valentine's Day.  The Christmas/New Year's is a solid one-two that terms 
me mentally ill for not having a significant other and loving family to 
share my days with, and Valentine's just adds insult to injury, an entire 
industry oriented around the concept of making people feel bad if they 
don't buy something expensive with little red hearts for someone else.  And 
if you don't have that someone else?  Suicide rates actually go down during 
the holidays... check it, it's true.  But as painful as it is to stay out 
in public, it's not as bad as it would be to sit alone in the rec room 
while my roommate makes out with his flavor of the week on my bed.

So here I am.  Call me that creepy kid sitting on the bench, watching the 
ocelots behind the bars.  Call me the wacko with the headphones, listening 
to Coldplay until the batteries run out.  Call me a pathetic example of 
humanity that just couldn't cut it.  Just don't call me Eleanor Rigby.  
It's been done.

And call him Father McKenzie.


Even now, with the gun in my mouth- no, that's Fight Club.  It doesn't end 
like that.  I don't know that it ever ends so much as continues to exist.  
Not as interesting, I'll admit.  But even now, sitting on the same bench a 
month later, I don't know if I can call him by the name he used.  I'm not 
strong enough to hold that kind of belief.  And using that name... well, 
it'd be as bad as believing, really.

But, then, Father McKenzie walked past, got a shaky hand on the back of the 
zoo bench, and eased himself down.  I got that uneasy feeling all young 
people get when an old man invades their space - the one where you feel 
like you ought to offer help, but don't want to risk getting grandpa-
cooties on you.  He had a cane, and it leaned on the bench as he fumbled to 
pull off a pair of threadbared gloves.  I tried not to watch, to lose 
myself in the cats and the Coldplay, because if he got to me I'd have to 
move, and this is the best bench, really.

He didn't give me that option, though.  His hand was weak, weaker than 
mine, and felt fragile, like an old china plate you're afraid to put down 
in case you do it wrong.  I know, because he reached over and wrapped it 
around my hand, and I didn't see it coming until it was too late - I 
flinched, juggling for a moment before I managed to hook the headphones 
off, the breeze and the animal catcalls and the car engines all filtering 
back in.

I expected him to be Alzheimered beyond repair, but he opened his mouth, 
and the dentures were there, and he seemed out of breath, but he spoke with 
all the conviction of Morgan Freeman in any role you could name.

"Son, have you given any thought to the state of your immortal soul?"

I wrote him off as a religious nut.  As it turns out, I was half-right.


My first words to him weren't quite as auspicious.  It came out along the 
lines of "...uh, sir, I, I don't... I think you... I'm really not..."

"Repent, my son - the kingdom of heaven is at hand."

I was getting more nervous.  Not because he hadn't let go of my hand, 
though he hadn't - I'd seen his eyes, and they kept dancing, jittering in 
his sockets.  Snapping for a moment to one side, then the other, never 
really meeting mine.  It was like a tennis spectator with a neck brace, and 
it really freaked me out.

"I, I'm not really... well, I, I g-guess I'm sort of... I don't go to 
church, though-"

"Only in the eyes of your savior will you be cleansed..."

Two things had dawned on me.  First, he was watching people.  All of them.  
Friday mornings are off-peak, but he was looking at every single one within 
line-of-sight.  Second, he wasn't listening to a thing I said.

"...look, I, uh, I worship... I worship Satan..."

"Remember, he died on cavalry cross for your sins!"

"Satan?"

For the briefest moment, he actually looked at me.

"Why not?"

Then he was off, rambling again.

I was getting the hang of his eyes, and while I was still freaked out, and 
my hand had all the pleasant sensation of being held by a dried-out banana 
peel, it was starting to come across.  He'd look once, look twice, look a 
third time- a few moments later, they'd come into my field of vision, 
always a couple, always some smiling, happy laughing pair glad that 
February 14th is a paid holiday and they'd get laid later.  Knowing that 
there was a pattern to this freaky old man's behavior somehow made it 
better.

He had a patter that reminded me of a stage magician, too, or a card shark.  
His eyes'd only touched mine once, in that Zenlike moment of blasphemy, and 
while everything he said sounded about right from what I could remember of 
sunday school, it sounded like a pamphlet, a sales pitch.  It was a sales 
pitch, of course, but it sounded more like one from a shoe salesman whose 
true vocation was drag racing.

Basically, I was starting to wonder where this was leading.  If it'd been 
up to me, I would've walked away - satisfying curiosity wasn't my strong 
suit.  I don't have a strong suit, but even my weaker suits tend more 
towards cautious cowardice.  But it wasn't up to me - he was holding me.  
Not with his hand, with his presence.  Something about him, about the whole 
freaky encounter, about his resemblance to Winston Churchill, made me want 
to find out what happens next.

Then, for a moment, we were alone - and he exhaled, relaxing and pulling 
his hand back.  I could still feel it there, like the sun's image glaring 
across my retina.

"That took long enough."  He mopped his forehead with a woolly scarf, 
tugging it from around his neck.  "You're not really Christian, are you?"

"I... uhh, not really, I just... I guess I am..."

"Believe in something, but you're not sure what?  Parents took you to 
church when you were a sprog, that sort of thing...?"

I nod mutely, rubbing my hand.

"Good, you're not into it.  I hate cult-worshippers.  Let's get a drink."


"Call me Lupus."

Father McKenzie liked scotch and soda for two.  I wasn't a big drinker - 
I'd tried it, and decided there were cheaper emetics out there.  But he'd 
ordered for both of us, and I hadn't had the heart to refuse, so I toyed 
with the glass, trying to figure out what was going on.

"Hey, got any ID?"

"Um.  Yes.  But I'm, I'm not twenty-one."

He shrugged.  "Neither am I.  Give."  I hesitated, and he gave me a 
somewhat dirty look.  "Yeah, there's a big market in underage college 
ID..."

At the time, I'd been thinking about my driver's license, but the ID was 
safer; I fished it out, showed it to him.

"Thaddeus E. Barnes.  Okay, okay, put it away.  Power in names.  Just 
getting off on the right foot.  Tell me.  What are you doing in the zoo on 
Valentine's Day?  I'll restate that, Alex.  What are you doing alone in the 
zoo on Valentine's Day?"

I decided I'd be drinking after all, and coughed as it burned... they'd 
gone heavy on the scotch.  "...who are you?"

"Lupus, I told you... come on, Thaddeus, we've got a lot of ground to 
cover.  I'm leading up to something.  Alone, the big V day, why?"

"Todd.  Call me Todd."  I look down at the glass, watching the counter 
distort through the ice and booze.  "It doesn't matter."

He sighed, knocking back a slug of his own drink and looking over at me.  
"How drunk am I going to have to get you before I get a straight answer?"

"I'm... I'm single.  I don't have anyone."

"See, there.  Second point already and we're only on our first round.  That 
wasn't so hard, was it?"

I glanced at him- well, as far as his arm.  "What was the, the first 
point?"

"We'll get around to that.  Let's work on the third for now.  Just V-day in 
particular, or...?"

"I'm always single."  It didn't burn as much the second time, maybe because 
my taste buds were still recovering.  "Alone."

"Good.  Well, no, it's not good, but- progress has been made, okay?  Let's 
leave it at that.  What do you think about today?"

"...it's creeping me out."

He chuckled.  "Right.  Things will make sense sooner or later, kid... that, 
or you'll just learn to fake it better.  I meant Valentine's Day in 
general."

I sighed.  "I hate it."

"Unromantic bastard," he said encouragingly.

"I do... it's... it's pointless... you have to buy all this stuff for 
someone, and make a point of behaving a certain way."

"When you ought to be behaving that way all year 'round."

"Yeah.  And if you don't spend money, it's like you don't care."

"Amen, bruthah."

I ran a hand through my hair, squeezing my eyes shut for a moment.  "And if 
you're single, it's, it's like something's wrong with you..."

"...like there's a humanity test you've failed..."

"...and you get either pity or contempt..."

"...but no matter what, everyone around you..."

"...reminds you of what you don't have."

"Right."

"Of what I don't have."

"Right, that's the third point.  Drink up.  I'm paying."


"Okay, look.  All the holidays are bullshit, right?  The Santa Claus thing, 
red suit and beard and ho ho ho, Haddon Sundblom created that for Coca-Cola 
in 1931.  Before that, he was this gnomelike bishop, and what that's got to 
do with the birth of Christ you got me.  New Year's is just your standard 
vernal equinox - then the Romans tied it to January 1st for civil reasons, 
it got Julian'd to March 25th, then Gregorian'd back to one-one - it's all 
political.  Halloween is thoroughly pagan, and was about dressing up as the 
dead to scare the spirits away... there's no relevance to any of them.  
They're industries.  They're Hallmark holidays."

I nodded, a tad blearily.  I'd never bothered setting a limit, because I 
never drank enough to make it necessary, but I was pretty sure I'd passed 
it.

"Valentine's is the same thing.  Christianity mucked up the old school.  
Look, church officials changed the name to St. Valentine's Day, right?  And 
they started drawing names of saints instead of names of young women.  It 
didn't last, but the damage was done.  There've been something like seven 
guys named Valentine honored with feasts since then, and by now they've 
evolved into a single generic St. Valentine - given his day by Pope 
Gelasius, 496.  But that's not what it's all about."

"Well, what is it?  Huh?"

"I'm getting to it.  You can blame the ancients for some things - it wasn't 
canon Lupercalia, but they started honoring Juno Februata with the whole 
pick-a-name gig.  Mostly because... look, Rome.  Third century.  You've got 
sheep, you've got wolves, and you've got humans raising one to spite the 
other, right?  Lots of wolves in Rome around then.  So these shepherds have 
a god to watch over them, protect them from the wolves, keep the sheep and 
shepherds alike fertile, that sort of thing... you don't get so much 
fertility these days.  Back then, though, the wolves outnumbered the 
humans.  None of that zero population growth crap."

"Lots of people... having...?"

"Hooking up, right.  Look, it was partitioned, right?  You savvy 
'partitioned'?  On the 15th of February, they sacrificed goats and young 
dogs - animals that hump a lot - to their god of fertility at the Lupercal, 
this holy grove.  Then two youths of noble birth went through this thing 
with swords and blood and covering themselves with goat flesh before 
running through the streets and smacking everyone with februum, strips of 
hide... okay, they got pissed the first time, but it's purification and 
fertilization, right?  Only this was kind of a downer, and didn't do 
anything along the lines of guaranteeing a bumper crop of human babies.  So 
Juno got into it and put names of young women into a box, drawn at random 
by the men, and the matches were considered partners for the rest of the 
year.  That's your real New Year's right there, kid."

"...what did you say your name was?"

"I'll get back to that in a moment.  The practice lasted a long time, but 
that was then, this is now.  It got bastardized, it got changed, it's not 
even on the right day anymore.  This isn't Valentine's Day any more than 
Christmas is Christmas."  He knocked back a slug with a disgusted 
expression.  "Not that it matters.  Can't get a hotel room without a free 
autobiography of Christ our lord and savior.  Nobody's forgetting him 
anytime soon.  But, Todd, listen, 'cos this is the bit that's really 
important..."  Father McKenzie leaned forward, hunching over the shot 
glass, holding my eyes.

"Sometimes humans get the right ideas.  Even if it's for all the wrong 
reasons, sometimes people get the hang of that left-handed shot, the one 
that spells the difference between being laughed off the court and going on 
to compete with the big boys.  Valentine's Day, well, that's one of them.  
They got the roots just right, they hit the nail on the head.  But then you 
strayed, sorry, but you did.  The Luperci got it right, but everyone else 
liked the idea of dies februata more than Lupercalia.  There's no more 
februare or lustrare, just February and lust, and some things can't be 
forgotten... they're dangerous.  They're important, kid."

I stared at him.  Finally, somewhere, from the back of my throat, I mutter.  
"...like what?"

He hesitated.  I knew he did.  And he set it aside, pushed the drink to one 
side, snapped his fingers for another round.  "Later."


Things got blurred.  Even now I can't remember much.  Just snatches of 
conversation, squirrelled away in some part of my brain the booze hadn't 
hit yet.  I won't get into it.  I didn't really wake up for a while, and it 
wasn't until somebody started kicking the back of my seat that I found out 
the sewage being poured into my skull through both eye sockets was just a 
hangover.

I did a slow, careful inventory of all the bits and parts I had, double-
checked the parts I shouldn't have had, and pieced together an entire human 
being enough to open my eyes.  I looked out and down, probably about forty 
thousand feet.  My stomach did a slow roll.  It could've been cloudy, but 
it was the middle of the night, and I couldn't see any lights down there.  
I don't like flying, but I'd done just enough to know that there should've 
been lights down there... I'd gotten drunk, I'd gotten on a jumbo jet, and 
I was over the ocean.

I drifted right to find out how, and Father McKenzie was dozing beside me.

I jogged his elbow - old man or not, meek or not, I wanted some answers.  
Then I realized I also wanted to empty my bladder, and we'd both had time 
to pull ourselves together a little by the time I'd taken that step too.  
My face was damp, my stomach hurt something nasty, but I was a little more 
human and a little more awake, enough to do something more constructive 
than sputter.

"Where am I?"

He rubbed his forehead for a moment.  "About seven hours outside the 
Italian border, I think.  You were out for a while."

"The... the what?"

"Italy.  Rome.  Look, kid, I'm sorry.  I had to do it.  There wasn't time 
to convince you."

I just stared, shocked.  And a little nauseated.  "I'm on a plane to, to 
Italy?"

"Rome, Italy.  Palatine Hill.  Well, below it, really."

"What have you-"

"Calm.  Down."  He leaned over, eyes intense.  "Relax.  Breathe.  Look, 
Todd, there's a few ways this can go.  You can go find a flight attendant 
and tell the crew I kidnapped you and brought you on board against your 
will.  And they'll probably throw me in the cargo hold and arrest me when 
they land, but they aren't going to turn around.  They'll pay for a ticket 
home, and try to soak it from me in court... like that'll happen.  They'll 
be very apologetic but no matter what happens you're bound for Italy, 
right?  Okay, yeah, you can do that.  Or you can find out why I went to the 
trouble of forging a passport and visa for both of us.  Not to mention 
sixteen hundred bucks in plane tickets.  And thirty in scotch and soda."

I didn't know what else he was right about, or what he was leading up to, 
but the plane probably wouldn't turn around.  And I didn't feel like trying 
to make a fuss, or like doing much of anything other than curling up in 
somewhere warm and dark and sleeping for a few days.  So I settled into the 
seat, and fumbled a flight blanket over me, and glared.

"Thanks."  He took a rattling breath, and leaned back himself, taking a sip 
from a glass of water.  He actually looked like he was doing a little 
better, which was just as well - I didn't feel like calling them in for a 
stroke either.

"...yeah, I bet you're wondering why I called you here.  Sorry.  I like 
that line.  Todd, we've got to go to the cave of the Lupercal, to the place 
where Romulus and Remus came to be.  There's something we have to take care 
of, to do.  There's a tradition to follow, okay?  Valentine's Day.  It has 
to be done right."

"You're insane."

"Possibly.  Probably.  I'm mad, yeah, and I'm scared, and I- forget it.  
Look, this isn't about getting laid.  Even then, it wasn't about getting 
laid, not really.  There was a lot of that going on, but that came later.  
That was Juno's work, and the bitch has the power now.  You have to believe 
me when I tell you this.  If we don't go through with this, tonight, bad 
things will happen.  Not to you, I'm not threatening you, right, but to 
everybody.  There's something special about you that makes you uniquely 
qualified to keep the human clock ticking another year.  Without you, I.  
Can't.  Do.  This."

"...what are, are you saying?"

He sighed, working a crick from his neck.  "Romulus and Remus were the 
original kings of shepherds.  Lupercalia revolved around two youths of 
noble birth... Juno did help with that much.  Nobility's not about the 
culture, or the upbringing.  It's about bloodlines.  Anyone can be noble if 
you've got the right chromosones in your ancestry.  And with the fertility 
rites, both of 'em spread a lot of chromosones around.  Some families 
didn't make it, some flourished... it's been damn near three thousand 
years, and the family tree's grown into one hell of a dysfunctional forest, 
right?  Except by now, it's more like a swamp.  The blood's thin, it's 
spread far and wide, and it takes an exponential factor to breed true."

"What?"

"Look, you've got families branching off, right?  New blood intermingling 
with old, all that.  When you get far enough down the generational path, 
it's like a photocopy, it gets illegible, it's worthless.  The bloodline 
doesn't matter anymore.  But if you get enough shitty copies together, you 
can sort out all the bits you can still make out and piece together 
something resembling the original.  If common ancestors from the Romulus-
Remus divide happen, just happen, to cultivate, the bloodline strengthens."

I was just watching him by now.  I had a sinking feeling I knew what was 
coming.  I was right.

"The rite requires two youths of noble birth, and, Thaddeus, your family 
tree merged just enough times to breed a true bloodline.  You are one of 
the few remaining members of nobility.  And you have to perform the 
festival of Lupercalia.  You're one of the only people alive on this earth 
who can."

"I can't believe this."

"Yeah.  Don't worry, you don't have to declare it on your tax forms."

"I... but, you said two..."

"You're the second.  I found the other months ago.  It was almost too late 
by the time I found you."  He snorted.  "Valentine's Day, even.  But not 
Lupercalia.  We'll have just enough time."

"And you're... a shepherd?  Of noble birth?"

He closed his eyes, leaning back.  "The noblest, kid.  Oldest-school 
bloodline, beatified by default."

"Your name..."

"Lupus."  He glanced over.  "Short for Lupercus."


"You're god."  I didn't have the stability to make it a question.  It'd 
been a long day, and it just wasn't ending.

"A god.  Of the pantheon.  There's no monopoly on divinity."

"And if I... don't do this... you die?"

"Oh, hell no.  Nothing like that.  Can you drive?"

"Uh.  Yes.  If it's an automatic."

"Okay..."  Father McKenzie, bent over the rent-a-car form, scribbled 
industriously.  For some reason, the couple in the lot was on his nerves.  
I planned to ask about it as soon as we got past the godhood thing.

"It wouldn't matter?"

"...well, it would.  Kind of.  Not the same thing at all.  It's all about 
the balance of power, right?  But I, personally, would end up all right.  
For the time being, anyway.  Yes, here, Visa.  You accept Visa, right?  
Good.  Listen, kid, I told you, it's not you and it's not me that stands to 
lose.  It's everybody.  If Valentine's Day wins, every human suffers.  
Sooner or later, every human falls.  Thank you, and you have a nice day 
too."

"Why?"

"It's polite, Todd.  If someone wishes you a nice day, wish them one too.  
Don't you learn anything in college?  Here, take the keys."

"No, I, I mean, why does every human suffer?"

He didn't respond, watching the couple.  They watched us back.  Intently.  
It creeped me out, and I thought I'd reached my limit on that.

"Find the car, kid.  Fast."

"I- what kind is it?  Where's the form?"

"There are things humans shouldn't have forgotten."  The late afternoon sky 
was scudding over with clouds, an icy chill sweeping over the lot.  
"Dangerous things.  Reasons for things."

"Is this it?  The, the, uhh... Alfa Romeo GTA 156?"  I fumbled with the key 
ring, getting a hold of the remote fob and clicking open the car doors - it 
wasn't that one, was the other one, across the aisle.  "Shit, Lup- Luper- 
come on-"

The couple started towards us.  Another pair, down the street, already 
walking.  Zeroing in on us like a missile guidance system.  A third, always 
in twos, not in locked step but staying together.  They weren't police, not 
as far as I knew, they were just pedestrians - one had a pair of shopping 
bags, until they dropped and spilled over the sidewalk, oranges bumping and 
rolling down the street.  I was scared.  Scared enough to get a hold of 
Father McKenzie's shoulder and pull him towards the car.

I'd gotten him in, shut the door, made my way around - the pair in the lot 
was running now, sprinting straight for the car, heads down and arms 
pumping, breath puffing behind them in a trail of condensation, like a pair 
of oncoming freight trains and just as inexorable.  I pulled the driver's 
side door open, jammed the key in as I tumbled in, and raced the engine.  
The car rocked on its wheels, a heavy weight slamming into it, and I got a 
hold of my door, pulled it shut just ahead of them.  I heard the doors 
lock, saw Father McKenzie's hand on the control, as I scrabbled, panted, 
staring at the cold hatred in the eyes of the strangers.

The man drew his fist back and smashed it into my window, his image 
shuddering with the impact.  He did it again, and the glass cracked sharply 
with the third punch, starring into a spiderweb of wonder with the fourth, 
before the car leaped forward, tumbling the woman to one side.  I inhaled 
hard, fast, hyperventilated as I grabbed the spinning wheel, Father 
McKenzie's foot firmly on the gas pedal.  We rattled over the divider, down 
an embankment, and I felt metal scrape pavement as we lost the bumper on 
the street... but we were moving, and I swerved around the couple on the 
sidewalk as they lunged for us, pulling a Crazy Through on an incoming 
taxi, its horn blaring as we sped past.

My breath fogged the windshield as I panted hard, getting a solid grip on 
the steering wheel and my foot on the gas.

"Headlights."

I fumbled, searched, snapped them on.

"Take the on-ramp here.  We're headed north.  Palatine Hill, the middle 
mound."  He reached down and adjusted the heater, his own breath short and 
sharp, the windshield starting to clear up.  "You did good, kid.  Roll down 
your window.  The last thing we need is to get pulled over."

I rolled it down.  I couldn't speak.  If I looked over at him I didn't know 
if I'd hold it together.  They'd been total strangers and they'd tried to 
kill him.  They'd tried to kill me.

Quietly, he talked to the night.  "The balance of power... I've got 
Lupercalia.  Purification and fertilization.  Juno has Valentine's Day, 
love and passion.  It comes down to the roots, Todd.  It comes down to 
where it all began, when humans fought back against the night with what 
little they had.  But you've forgetting why, you've forgotten what 
mattered."

"What?" I whispered.

"The wolves."


I'd imagined Lupercal as something small, a gazebo and altar poking from a 
meadow in the middle of nowhere.  It was massive, and I found out later 
Palatine was the root for the word "palace"... a massive, landscaped site, 
cracked stone ruins reaching up hills and into the sky, the car's 
headlights silhouetting white and black through the drizzling rain.  It 
dominated the landscape, several fallen testaments to the might of the 
Roman empire spread throughout a city.  The Cave was a point of darkness 
through arches looming overhead as I pulled up, gravel rumbling under the 
tires and poinging from the undercarriage.

"Get inside.  They're not far away.  Lupercal's a neutral zone, like 
Jerusalem, but after coming so close... they might need encouragement."

"What... in there?  What do I..."

"Do?  Find your other half.  There are four divine creatures in this play, 
Todd, three of them are on our side, two of those three are in this car - 
and if you meet the fourth, Juno, the curtains fall, so don't screw it up.  
No pressure."

I didn't want to get out - it was a dark and stormy night by now, and I 
didn't mind the rain so much as I minded the massive number of hiding spots 
someone could come at me from, or two someones.  I remembered this morning, 
when I'd wanted to find out what happened next.  I hated myself, and I held 
my breath, and I got out of the car, and I ran, stumbling and slipping on 
rain-slickened stones, into the darkness of the Cave.

The ebb and flow of the storm was a constant rush, like an echoing stream 
of sound pulsing throughout the stones and alcoves.  I tried to call out, 
cleared my throat, took a moment to catch my breath, and barely managed to 
shout "Hello?"  The moss approved, but I didn't hear any response, so I 
eased deeper, the glimmer of headlights fading behind me.  "Hello?!"

I wanted my Coldplay.  I wanted my bench and my ocelots.  Or my dorm room 
and Dreamcast.  I'd've settled for a deck of cards and a quiet study carrol 
in the library.  I'd even have gone home to Sheila Broslofski and Sergeant 
Hartman.  All I had was a soaking wet jacket, the sour taste of adrenalin 
and hangover, and an insane octogenarian in a rental car.  I tried to walk 
with the silence of a butterfly and the grace of a cat, and made slightly 
less noise than a dump truck unloading.

The darkness faded somewhat ahead, the dim light of the moon filtered by 
rain and cloud and distance, but enough to see by.  I almost tripped in my 
eagerness, scraped a palm against the wall where I caught myself - walked 
more carefully into the moonlight, bringing an arm up to shade my face 
against the random waves of rain spraying under the overhang.

I'd found ground zero.  An unenthusiastic goat sat sodden under the skies, 
tethered to a stake by a raised stone wall.  Plastic bags and carryalls, 
bulging and lumpy, were scattered across the ground.  And a distant figure 
huddled under raincoat and umbrella, barely highlighted by the glare of a 
butane lantern.  I shouted out, and he looked up, turning as I ducked into 
the rain and ran forward.

Swiping water from my face, I closed ground, and found out he was a she.  I 
hadn't expected this, and neither had she, from the look on her face.

"I thought-"

"You're a man?"

We paused.  Looked at eachother with equal uncertainity.

She spoke first.  "Old wanker, so high, got fertility god on his business 
card?"

I nodded, stammered.  "L-Lupercus."  I hadn't expected her, and it didn't 
help that I was shy and she was- beautiful would be generous.  She was 
handsome.  Her face tucked and curved in the wrong places to land a 
starring role, but green eyes and what must've been dyed purple hair worked 
on its own.  And I hadn't known it was coming.  I'd thought she was a man.  
I floundered.

"Bloody hell.  He didn't... you're the other one?  'Youth of noble birth'?"

"Yes.  I mean, no.  I, that's what he said, I just..."

"I know.  It's... it's cocked-up, isn't it?  Megan.  Megan Orlando."

"Uh.  Thaddeus Barnes.  I mean Todd."

"Uhtodd?"

"I-"  I turned away.  I didn't have to put up with this.  Not here, not in 
the middle of another damn country- but she caught my shoulder, pulling me 
back around.

"Sorry.  Todd, I'm sorry."  She stepped closer, getting the umbrella over 
us both.  "I'm a right bitch sometimes, don't think before I open my mouth.  
Sorry?  Can we try it again?"

"...okay.  Yes."  I nodded, scrubbing hands over my wet face.

"What's going on?  I've been waiting for you two to get back here..."

"I-"  A hestitation.  I looked back, over my shoulder, towards where I 
hoped I'd come out - all the entrances looked the same.  "I d-don't think 
he's coming."

"What?  Oh, for- what now?!"

"I don't know.  I think... he said... the wolves."

"The what?"  She blinked, raking the raincoat's hood back.

"Juno's wolves.  Valentine's Day.  She's... I guess she's trying to keep 
the rite from happening.  He said he'd hold her back..."

"Something's trying to stop the Lupercalia?"

I nodded, and hoped I sounded a lot more certain than I felt about any of 
it.  "Lupercus is back with the car.  He said he'd, uh, he'd encourage them 
not to cross the line."

She inhaled.  "Todd?"

I looked up.

"Is this real?"

I remembered the steady stare of the strangers.  The way they transfixed us 
with their eyes, almost like they'd lick chops if they had any, and were 
willing to make the effort anyway.

"...y-yes.  Yeah."

"Right."  She looked down, across at the bags.  "We've got to do it, then."


We crouched over the lantern, looking at a hastily-scribbled checklist.  It 
wasn't getting any simpler, and we'd had to piece together everything he'd 
told us seperately - whether or not the photocopy was finally legible was 
questionable at best.

Item: February 15th, in the Lupercal, in the grove, at the altar.  Check.
Item: Sacrifice goats, young dogs, or anything else with strong sexual 
instincts to Lupercus.
Item: Two youths of noble birth touched on foreheads with a sword dipped in 
the victims' blood.
Item: Immediately wipe off the bloody spots with wool dipped in milk.
Item: Two youths break out in a shout of laughter.
Item: Partake of meal and wine.
Item: Skin goat.  Cover bodies with half of the skin.
Item: Run through the streets of the city, striking everyone you meet with 
the other half.
Goal: Purification of land (running) and body (striking).

"This is insane."

"This is fucking nuts."

We looked up at the goat.  It looked back.

"Do you, well, have all this stuff?"

"I think so... yeah, yeah, we do.  Somewhere in this shit."  Abruptly, she 
giggled.  "Mostly from Wal-Mart.  For all your fertility needs..."

I bit back an unpleasant, nauseated chuckle.  "You really want to..."

"No.  But-"

"Okay."

"Right."

We managed to get the goat onto the altar - it wasn't really happy about 
it, and I stood, holding the chain and collar, keeping it from going 
anywhere while Megan pulled a sword from one bag, unwrapping what looked 
like a towel from its blade.  It looked like the sort of thing I'd seen in 
Gladiator.  Neither of us looked thrilled at this additional dose of 
realism.

"So, I..."

"I guess you... cut out its..."  I glanced across, and it met my eyes.  
"...heart."

"Maybe I could cut its throat?"  She was staring down at the sword, a thumb 
laid along one edge - winced, and brought it to her mouth, sucking at a 
cut.

"I don't know..."

"I... you think?  It's got to be the heart?"

"Every, everybody went for the heart... the Aztecs, the... um.  Temple of 
Doom."

She snorted, raking hair plastered flat to her skull away from her eyes.  
Looked at the goat.  Closed her eyes.  "I wish it wouldn't... look at me 
like that.  Christ!"

"He just said we had to sacrifice it.  He never said, well, how."

"I think he was supposed to be here..."  Megan inhaled slowly, a hand 
tightening on the sword's hilt.  "It's... a ritual, right?  So long as we 
follow through on the spirit, it'll work.  Like the purity test."

"The what?"

She looked up, a trace of disbelief crossing her face, then shook her head.  
"Later.  Hold, hold it down.  I'll go for the heart.  It's, umm, right 
there, right?"

I felt with my free hand for a few moments, swallowing queasily.  "Here.  
Right here."

"You sure?"

"I can feel it.  Cut... parallel to the ribs..."

"Todd, just hold on.  We can do this."

I nodded slowly, grip tightening on the collar.  Getting my other arm 
around the goat's torso, I dragged it down to the altar's slick stone 
surface with a bleat of protest.  It started kicking, and I struggled to 
hold on, getting a knee up by my arm to keep it steady.

"Okay... just..."  She closed her eyes, bringing the sword back to swing.  
Then opened them again, taking a deep breath.  Tensed.

"Wait!"

Megan stumbled, looked up.  "What?"

"Can't you... can you feel it?  It's not right.  Something's not... we're 
missing something."

"I..."  She hesitated, let the tip of the sword drop to the ground.  "I 
don't know..."

I knew something was wrong.  I really could feel it.  I'm not sure what 
clued me in that it was different from everything else that was so 
incredibly wrong since yesterday, but it was there.  It was digging at me.

"Something... not right."  Father McKenzie's words dug at me.  "We're not 
doing it right.  We're, we're still here.  Not there.  Not then.  We're not 
at the root, not yet.  We're not..."

She blinked, looked up.  "Oh, bloody hell."

"What?"

"We're not starkers."


"It... it fits."  I mumbled, probably only half-heard over the wind and the 
occasional rumbles of thunder.  I hadn't looked her in the face once.  
"That was the, the point.  Being like Lupercus.  I mean the real Lupercus.  
Half-naked, half-goat.  That's what the skin is for."

Her shoulder tensed against mine, leaning against the altar, holding the 
goat down as we spoke.  "Romans did everything starkers.  Olympics, baths, 
all that shit.  And Rome wasn't even around yet, they were just shepherds."

"Something like this, a fertility rite..."

"It'd have to be."

I hadn't known what to say.  It wasn't that I stumbled over words, or it 
came out wrong, I had nothing at all.  I wish I'd had the grace to blush.

"Okay.  Hold the goat."

Her shoulder left mine.  I squeezed my eyes shut, leaning to keep a grip on 
the increasingly annoyed and kicking sacrificial victim.  The rain wasn't 
making it any easier, and I'd started to wonder if breaking the goat's 
spine would make it any less suitable for the ritual's purpose.  I'd gotten 
as far as deciding that the goat's sexual prowess would definitely suffer 
if it was paralyzed from the neck down before I felt her arm slide next to 
me, tensing.

"Your turn."

I eased up gradually, giving her time to get a grip, wishing the words 
"sexual prowess" hadn't been running through my mind at the time.  They 
weren't going away.  Fear and nausea and a headache and the thought of 
knowing I'd see a young woman - noblewoman, even - naked, glistening with 
rain, and quite soon streaked with blood was confusing me.  I wanted to 
throw up for several conflicting reasons.

I walked away, away from the lantern's light, and crouched, going down on 
my knees, hunching down for several long moments.  Then I took off my 
jacket.  Then I pulled off my shirt, feeling it peel away like cellophane 
from my plastered skin.  Then my shoes, socks.  Pants, and for just a 
moment I wondered if my college ID would survive the long soak.  And 
shorts.  I knew I wasn't anything to look at.  Soft and pink and about as 
buffed as an earthworm.  My penis, never all that big to begin with, had 
decided that things weren't any fun out there and had done its best to pull 
back into the wet thatch of pubic hair, with indifferent success.  I 
fervently wished I could do the same.  Under other circumstances, this 
would be a dream come true, but...

I made it as far as the altar, flying blind, but my shin scraped against a 
low stone protrusion and I stumbled, caught myself, eyes wide open with 
shock.  We stared at eachother, hypnotized by the moment like deer caught 
in high-beams, pain slowly trailing up my leg.  Her breasts were small, and 
sagged slightly, nipples jutting darkly from the pale skin; she was a 
redhead after all, a damp curl peeking above the edge of the altar, tiny 
hairs arching towards the length of her flank.  The lantern's light 
flickered, raced across her skin like a setting sun's rays across the 
ocean's horizon.

Then the goat bleated, bucked against her grip, and I managed to get a hold 
of the trailing chain and pull it back down before it slipped off the 
altar.  I got a grip on the altar's far edge, held the goat down flat until 
it stopped squirming momentarily, and got a hold of it as Megan lifted the 
sword up.

"D-d-d-"  I stopped, cleared my throat, my face burning.  "Don't m-miss."

"I won't.  Hold it still."

"Trying."

She brought the sword back, hesitated, and shifted her grip around, holding 
the hilt with both hands above her head, blade aiming at the altar and its 
bounty.  I couldn't help but look up, for just a moment.  Her breasts rode 
high as she brought the sword up, a small ripple travelling up in the blink 
of an eye, the muscle of her inner thighs tensing slightly, parting 
infitesimally, bracing a foot.

Then the blade slammed down, and I felt the point jam with a shudder of 
grinding stone against the altar.  The goat shrieked, blood bubbling up, 
across my arm, a bursting spray hot and salty against my face.  I swallowed 
my gorge, burying my face in my arm as I held it down and felt it die.  It 
struggled for twenty-three heartbeats, weaker and weaker, until it lay 
still under me, jerking only with the shear of flesh and the catch of bone 
as Megan carved her way around the heart.

"Shit.  I.  I think I.  Oh god.  I think I cut it.  The heart."

"Don't... don't worry-"

I swallowed again, twice, and stumbled back, away from the altar, blood 
trailing down my arm and stomach as the rain pelted me.  It came up - the 
cheeseburger and fries I'd had at the airport, a trace of scotch from the 
night before, a complimentary packet of cashews, bile and water, a wet, 
drooling mass spooling from my throat.  My stomach slowly unwound, and I 
coughed, on hands and knees.  I felt her breasts on my back and I didn't 
care.

"Breathe, Todd..."  I heard her gulp, swallow.  "It's okay."

I unsteadily pushed back, her arm under me, helping me up.  Turned my face 
to the rain and drank some in, spitting into the darkness.

"Are you...?"

"Y-yes.  Yeah.  You?"

"Yeah.  I'm okay.  It's... it's not done."

"I'll be okay.  Come on."

We managed to tear the ribs open, and cut the heart free.  It was wet and 
slimy and slippery and she'd sliced into two chambers, but it was out.

"In the fucking name of Lupercus."  She held it above her head a little 
uncertainly, then placed it beside the goat's bulging tongue.  I almost 
giggled, but held it in - I didn't know how stable I was, right then and 
there.  I'd been losing bits and pieces of reality for a while now.

"Dip the sword in the, the blood... were we meant to, well, collect it...?"

"I think... this'll work... get the milk and wool-"

"Where?"

"It looks like cotton candy."

"Okay."

Megan worked the sword around in the cavity a little, and withdrew it as I 
upended the milk carton over the mass of raw wool, white and red 
intermingling down my arm.  Carefully, she touched the flat of the blade to 
her forehead, then mine, as I reached over and smeared the wet mass across 
the spot, feeling her do the same a moment later.  The sword dropped with a 
clatter to the ground.

"We've got to laugh."

"Ticklish?"

She grimaced, gulped, and nodded.  We stepped towards eachother, and my 
hand traced under her floating ribs tentatively, then more purposefully, 
even as I squirmed away from her touch.  I snorted, then choked out a 
laugh; she forced one out, then laughed again, harder, a guffaw, as she 
clenched her hand around my arm, stumbled, hunched over and vomited, sobs 
racking her frame.  I knelt, got an arm around her, held her.


"We have to eat.  And drink wine."

"Wine first," she said immediately, and tore open the foil wrapping the 
bottle's cork.  I hadn't argued; though the rain had let up to a light 
drizzle, at least across the grove, the flatbread hadn't been improved by 
being soaked for a few hours.  She knocked back a slug as I finessed a 
handful of breadmush, and passed the bottle to me, scooping up a ball 
between thumb and forefingers and popping it into her mouth, swallowing 
both at once.  It looked like as good an idea as any, and I took a pull 
from the bottle.  Then I took another, before biting into the mush myself 
and bolting the mouthful down.

"Don't bogart the firewater, motherfucker."

I took another swallow, just for spite, before passing it back and wiping 
my hand on the ground.  The rain had done a pretty good job of taking care 
of the aftermath, and we sat, cross-legged, pumping fertility into the 
general area.  Neither of us were looking at the wet bulge on the altar.

"Know how to skin?"

She shook her head, swiping a hand across her mouth.  "I thought 
Lupercus..."

"I know... we need... oh.  I don't know.  Is there a knife?"

"Boxcutter... over there, I think."

"Maybe we can cut strips off..."  I pushed myself up, and then I saw it.  
Them.  The shadows in the periphery.  I froze.

"...Todd?  Are you..."  She trailed off.

"No," I whispered.  We'd come so far.

They were creeping in.  The darkness, too, and I saw it then, now that we 
were in the light, a sort of sharp and grainy contrast between the world 
outside the grove and the soft, strong light inside.  The blurred perimeter 
was being eaten away, by inches and feet, and pairs of eyes, pairs of pairs 
of eyes, bobbing slowly closer.  Always redundantly paired, always two sets 
of two, and the shadows flickered, wavered, here walking on two feet, there 
padding on four.

"Todd!"

I couldn't speak, fear burning on my tongue, alongside with the fruity 
taste of the dime-store wine.  I feel a hand on my shoulder, fingers 
digging in, gripping hard.

"Todd, we can finish Lupercalia!"

I spin, stumble as a foot goes out from under me, catch myself and scramble 
towards the altar as she hauls the sword up.

"Skin, strips- how-"

"Here, along the ribs, cut parallel, we can saw them off-"

"They won't stay on-"

"We can tie them on, bracelets, it's enough-"

She jammed the sword in, the blade slicing with sickening fluidity through 
the fur and flesh.

"I think we're supposed to tie them into thongs..."

"I don't know how the hell to do that and we don't have enough time, it's 
the goat's skin- get the legs off, I'll tie-"

"Got it!  Get out of the way, move Todd move!"

I moved, tearing strips off the bloody ribcage, hauling myself up onto the 
altar and kneeling across the corpse as handfuls of slippery skin slid 
through my hands.  I scraped as much as I could off on the edge of the 
stone, fumbling to get a knot in the meat - left, right, over - below me, 
the corpse jerked, tugged, as Megan punched through the joints with the 
blade, twisting and tearing each leg free.  The sharp, glaring edge ate 
closer, the sawteeth of invisible jaws gnawing away at our safety.  I 
didn't need Lupercus to tell me the creeping, crawling chaos lurking just 
beyond its perimeter would be hazardous to our health.  Objects in mirror 
were closer than they appeared.

"Megan, here-"  She reached up, and I slid a bracelet of goatskin down her 
arm, frantically working to get another around my own.

"Where?"

"I don't know... I don't... back to the car, to, to Lupercus.  He's got to 
know."

"They're in the way, Todd!"

"I know!"  The fur snarled, caught, and I dragged it up around one 
shoulder.  I slid down off the altar, catching myself on Megan's shoulder.  
She handed me a foreleg, and I raised it like a sword, feeling her raise 
the true blade as her back met mine, locked shoulder-to-shoulder against 
the encroaching chaos.  We stood in a world of our own, less than twenty 
feet on all sides.

"Why isn't it fucking stopping?!"

"Maybe we, we did something wrong, or it wasn't- maybe the wine-"

"Bloody hell, it could be anything-"

"What's the next step?"

"Run through the city, whack people with goatskin..."

"There are no people!  There's no damn city!"  Frustrated, I slipped, 
caught myself against the altar, and pushed forward.  The trailing edge was 
reaching for us, a few short steps away, and I hauled back desperately and 
hurled the goat leg at a pair of twisted lupine eyes-

The chaos split, unfurled, a blurred shockwave travelling behind the leg.  
For a moment, a clear path stood between us and the wall where a splotch of 
red marked my aim.  Then, it curled in on itself, the waves of the ocean 
crashing back.

"Megan!"

"I saw- swing it, don't throw it-"

I fumbled a second from her hasty helping hand, and glanced back as she 
lashed out with her own severed leg.  The chaos washed away from its arc 
like dust from a broom, blowing back, the bright and hard eyes leaping away 
from us in sudden, sharp bounds.

"Where is he?"

"This way.  Back to the pavillion..."


I knew the way.  I didn't, really, but I'd been that way before, so I 
didn't-know the way better than she didn't.  She'd held on to the sword, 
and it was pulsating with a strange, ebbing corona of its own, enough to 
see by.  Even if it wasn't our eyes we were seeing with.

Maybe they weren't thongs, but the chaos didn't know the difference.  The 
goat legs worked better than leafblowers, and we didn't have to swing 
anymore; the wolves were keeping their distance.  Megan was still keeping a 
swinging motion with hers, and the path behind us was slow to return, the 
sacred aura of the grove somehow responding to the purification we were 
putting out.  I didn't know how, and I don't know how, but we'd managed to 
do just enough right.

Then we saw the twisted, shredded wreck of the car.

We stared at it for a long moment.  If there was a body, we couldn't have 
seen it; it was crumpled like yesterday's memorandum in the wastebasket of 
Palatine Hill.  It looked like something had twisted the entire car into a 
pretzel and thrown the carpretzel into a sedan-sized iron maiden.

Megan spoke first.  I didn't have the heart.  "...can he die?"

"He said... he said he couldn't.  That it wouldn't matter.  If the ritual 
didn't go through..."

"...but."

I exhaled.  "But if... if Juno caught up to him first..."

"Yeah."

"I don't know, Megan."

"We know he's not here.  Now."

A long pause.  The chaos crouched.  Watched.

"Lupercalia."

"It's worked so far."

"But there's no one in the city.  There's no bloody city, Todd."

I stared at the sullenly smoking wreck.  I could hear the pings as the 
metal slowly cooled.  All the pieces were there.  I could feel it.

"...the balance of power."

"What?"

"February 14th... Valentine's Day.  Juno was at the height of her power."  
I spun the leg over my head, watched the chaos swirl away, like the eye of 
a hurricane.  "All that Hallmark crap, remembering just, just the mating, 
the passion, idealizing, idolizing..."

I heard her breath catch.

"...but it's February 15th."

"Lupercalia."

"We can balance the power.  If we do it.  If we complete the ritual.  We 
can bring things back."

"Megan."

"What?"

"We rented that car at the airport."  I let it crystallize for a moment 
more, before pouncing.  "What did you get here on?"


She straddled the seat, and I clambered on a little awkwardly behind her, 
juggling the sword and goat leg for a moment before stowing the sword in a 
saddlebag.  The leg, I tucked between us, as I slipped my other arm around 
her waist, feeling her stomach tense.  For a moment, I remembered that the 
only thing between us and total nudity was a bracelet of goat skin, and I 
stirred against her buttocks- then she rocked the motorcycle to one side, 
kicking the stand up under us, and I realized just how insane we are.  My 
priorities had reluctantly reasserted themselves.

"Where's the nearest city?"

"You don't know?"

"I'm an American, Megan!  If we don't own it, we don't care!"

"Rome!  Motherfucking Rome!  That's what Lupercal became!"

I laughed, incredulously.  "We're going to streak Rome on a motorcycle-"

"-waving a severed goat leg over our heads-"

"-to save the world?!"

"Fuck Valentine's Day, man!  This is the real way to celebrate!"

"Celebrate what?"

I felt her laugh, even as she gunned the engine.  "Anything!"

The motorcycle leapt under us, and I curled up against her back, gripping 
the leg tightly.  We had a spare, but I didn't relish the thought of 
digging it out in the middle of the highway.  She swung us out onto the 
path, down the ramp and out the gates, maneuvering carefully between the 
posts of the security gate; about us, the chaos parted, a streamer of 
reality filling the gap like air rushing to fill a vacuum.

"Todd, hold on tight, I'm boosting in ten..."

I huddled against her, curling both arms around her stomach, the leg 
flopping from one tight fist like a gruesome antenna fob.  My legs pressed 
tightly to hers, and I felt her thighs flex, gripping the wet vinyl of the 
motorcycle's seat.

"-three, two, one, and kick ass-"

The engine throbbed under us, roared, and for the barest moment weight left 
us.  Then the road blurred, inertia gave up, and wind snatched at our damp 
hair, hers fluttering madly against my face.  We didn't accelerate.  We 
flew.


The cops never tried to stop us.  Nobody did.  I don't know if something 
about Lupercalia protected us, as we raced through the seat of a fallen 
empire, population 2.65 million.  I know I peeked at the speedometer once, 
tried to convert from kilometers to miles, and gave up after coming up with 
something I hope was impossible.  If we'd been in the eye of the hurricane 
before, we were the vortex itself, slicing a swatch of purification through 
the land and its people, opening a seam in the fabric of the sky to let the 
light flow through, to let the fires of the sun burn bright, washing across 
the land and chasing the wolves back to the forests and the burrows.  We 
were a typhoon, a tsunami, an inexorable force of nature.  We were gods.  
For the barest moment, as Megan threw back her head and laughed, my chin 
tucking across her neck and arms tightening about her, buildings and 
bridges a subliminal smudge across our subconscious, the nexus of 
Lupercalia a swirling rift in reality itself before the blurred gray of our 
front tire... we were gods.


The dew-damp grass was a cool salve against my sore buttocks.  I laid 
there, arms under my head, and watched Rome live another night.  One of the 
arms didn't belong to me, but neither of us cared.

"What do you think happened?"

"...I don't know."  I sigh, watching the twinkle of fifty thousand cars 
trundling across the way.  "We did it.  I know that."

"What was your first clue?"

"Megan?"

"Yes, Todd?"

"Shut up."

"Yes, Todd."

"We pulled off Lupercalia.  We, uh, Lupercalled."  I ignored her snort, 
looking up at the stars in the sky.  "Is Lupercus alive?  Is Juno gone?"

"We put things right."

I mulled it over.

"...I think... yeah.  We've had Valentine's Day.  Now we've had Lupercalia.  
All that materialist bullshit, the fucking greeting card industry Christian 
influenced media propaganda cock-and-bull, and the next day..."

"Remembering what really matters?"

"Suits.  It's right again.  It's in balance."  She shrugs, a cool breast 
brushing against me.  "Guess we get to take the rest of the year off."

I didn't want to even think about what next year might bring, so I found 
her hand instead, squeezed it.  "Happy Lupercalia, Megan."

"Happy Lupercalia, Todd."

I watched the moon for a long moment.  I didn't want it to end.  I knew it 
would have to, before the sun came up.  Among other things, I'd have one 
day to make it back before Western World Literature kicked in again, and if 
I did have a passport, it was soaking wet in the middle of the Lupercali 
Cave.  And forged.  Though his credit was good - I hoped his forgeries were 
too.

"What time you think it is?"

"I don't know.  I so don't know.  This isn't my continent."

"Two in the morning, give or take?"

I thought back.  "Maybe.  If... I don't know, Megan.  What time did we 
start?"

"It's really... I mean, it's past midnight, right?  The balance is set.  
It's February 16th.  Right?"

"Right.  I think so.  Why?"

I felt her shift her weight, and reluctantly started to untangle my arm 
from hers, when she rolled the wrong way, nestling against me.  Her thigh 
slid across mine, knee gently rubbing up against my penis, warmly and 
softly melding against me from hip to shoulder as her tongue slid between 
my lips.  I felt her nestle against me, kiss me, and I inhaled sharply, 
freezing, hesitating.  I couldn't breathe.

She pulled up, and even as I started to stammer, reached up and covered my 
mouth with a firm hand.

"Todd?"

The hand lifted.  I coughed, shakily.  "Yes, Megan?"

She smiled, abruptly and uncomprimisingly beautiful.  "Shut up."

"Yes, Megan."


Life goes on.  In sorting out just why one Thaddeus Edward Barnes was in 
fact several thousand miles away from campus, no mention of Roman mythology 
was made.  His having been witnessed to be completely smashed at key points 
was brought up, though, and I agreed to a quiet repatriation in return for 
some counseling on the evils of alcohol abuse.

Megan Orlando had nothing to do with that incident, though she was amused 
to hear of it.  A lot of things just didn't happen during that 48-hour 
period, and she was involved in most of them - or wasn't involved in most 
of the things that didn't happen.  Whichever way works best.  She does 
exchange letters with some American she ran into after he managed to cross 
an entire ocean while dead drunk, and I understand she's putting in some 
extra hours at the motor pool to save up for a computer; e-mail, instant 
messaging, and the like may cut down on the distance between them.

I've got a year and a half yet at the university, but I've already made 
arrangements to take a week off next year.  Something of a mental health 
trip, really.  I hear Rome is a nice vacation spot.  You don't need a visa 
for a stay under ninety days, and I don't expect to stay anywhere near that 
long, so I think I'll give it a shot - a more sober, organized shot this 
time.  Right around Valentine's Day, maybe.  Nobody on campus gets anything 
accomplished then anyway.

I still sit on the bench and watch the ocelots.  Megan's got me into 
Chumbawamba over Coldplay, but I still sit and watch.  And I wait for an 
old man to sit down and sell me on eternal life.  It hasn't happened yet.  
It's been a while, but I won't give up hope; these old men live longer than 
you might think.  He's got some ideas about eternal life already, you see.  
I don't know about the Roman pantheon, but I'm ready to believe in Father 
McKenzie.

Oh, and call me Todd.  Nothing more, nothing less... Todd.  Just Todd.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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