Awakened In Blood

Version 2.0
by DarkWolf
(15,101 words)

I remember the first day I ever met him. I would say I remember it like it was yesterday... but that isn't true. I remember it like it was twelve years ago. Perfectly. I even remember most of the days in between. He remembers it like it was yesterday, but then, he has a lot more years to remember. I've always wondered if having too many years makes the individual times less distinct. But it doesn't matter. I know the answer. Before he met me, he had never forgotten anything, not a single day in his life.

He sat on the park bench, looking out over the grassy fields. He had lived in many different cities, surrounded by many different types of people. He was fond of this one. While they still killed everything they touched, he could hardly fault them for that. An inner smile. And they realized their errors. Tried to leave some of their world green. This park. Even as they covered it in banners, and vendors, and benches. But they tried.

He did not keep track of how long he was alone in his thoughts. It was hardly a new pastime, but suddenly he was interrupted. A child. Not more than five years old. Female. He looked up, around at the passing crowd. Yes, yes, they were still avoiding him, absently veering away from his bench as though it were not there. It was only this girl. He looked down at her. She repeated herself. She sounded worried. He thought back. She had been speaking to him for some time, it appeared.

"Mister? Mister, are you okay?"

He looked down at her, into her, and gave her the gentlest of mental shoves. "Go away. Back to your parents."

She ignored what he said, too delighted at having finally gotten an answer to bother worrying about its message. She reached out to touch his knee, but then thought better of it. Her palm was still cover with ice cream drippings. She had only just dropped the cone when she felt him. Pulsing like a beacon. It was amazing that no one else had come to help. "Are you hurt?"

He looked down at her, shocked. She was not an exceptional child. Blonde hair, of the type that would likely grow darker with age, but was now just a touch lighter than butter. Grey-green eyes stared at him with so strong a sense of emotion he was almost pulled into them. Almost forgot... but they were too innocent of eyes. The face was round and freckled. She wore a bright orange shirt, and over it a set of cornflower blue overalls. The coloring was hideous. But perhaps it was what every human dressed their young in. He tried to distance himself again. "Go away." The psychic push was harder this time. The same strength he would have used on an adult. Maybe a touch more than that.

She ignored it. "Are you hurt? You..." He seemed confused. She tried to find a way to put into words what she felt. "You're lonely." Cold. That was what she had felt. Cold so raw that it made her think he was about to shatter. She has only just learned what lonely meant... She has only just moved here.

He stared at her, lost. Lonely! How dare she... how dare... Of course she was right. He had been feeling it most acutely recently. He suspected it was what he deserved for settling in one place for the last forty years. But the hunting was so much better here then other places he had been, and having a central location was so much more efficient then simply performing in an alley. His prey sometimes lasted a full week this way. One woman had actually lasted twenty days. Mind you few would have recognized her as human during those last five, but it was still much more efficient. But it held him in one place. Forced him to witness as everything else changed. As everyone else... lived. Yes, he was lonely. But how did she know? He looked down at the girl.

For her part, she watched everything. She watched his shock. His remembering. His resignation. She thought that was the word for it. Long word, resignation, and she had never actually felt it herself, just felt it off of her parents, just before they moved. But she thought that was what it was called. Not that any of this played across his face, or that she would have known how to read it if it had. It simply was. She knew. And she accepted that. And it wasn't like she was prying or anything. She couldn't see what he was remembering, just that he was. After the resignation, when he looked down at her, she nodded and pulled herself up onto the bench next to him. Wiping her sticky hand across her pant leg, she turned the palm to him and said, "I'm Karen."

She waited. No response. "Will you be my friend?"

He stared at her. What! He had tried one final time to push her away, and finally accepted the fact that he had never tried to push a child before. Maybe he could not push children. It was almost comforting that... but this. "You do not want me as a friend, child. Go away. Go home." He did not bother trying to push this time, simply said it.

Worried. She knew that one too. He was worried. About her? About him? About... She wished she had more practice with this. She could read him so much better than anyone else she had ever met, but she still had to know the emotion to know what she was reading. It was something like when her mom didn't want to tell her something, but was also a little like when her dad was yelling at her for being an hour late getting in from playing outside. Yeah, worried was probably the right name for it. "Of course I do!" It did not feel right to call him silly. "I wouldn't have asked if I didn't."

She tried to think about why he would have said that. Didn't he want to be her friend? There were a lot of people where they used to live that didn't want to be her friend, mostly other kids. They said she was weird. But she had been so sure! He was at least as lonely as she was! "Please?"

He stared at her, then closed his eyes, shook his head, and sighed. Opening them, he looked out at the crowd, still parting around them, both invisible, instead of just him. That was what had come of her climbing onto the bench. What was he supposed to do? Of course he was lonely. It would be glorious to have someone he could talk to, someone who wasn't terrified of what he might do next. But it couldn't last. And once he had come to know her there would be no possibility of her not being prey. It wouldn't be able to be help. She didn't know what she asking, asking for his friendship. Looking out, he saw a woman, frightened, scanning the crowd, looking for someone small. Guessing, he said, "Your mother is looking for you. Go."

Karen looked out in the direction indicated. Yep. Mom, worried as usual. But she hadn't been spotted yet. "Please, Mister? I don't have any friends at all here yet. I won't be a pest. If you say no, I'll just drop it, but please say something." The loneliness was a pulsing thing now. She had been wrong before. She had never felt anywhere close to this lonely before, even when she lay in her room completely convinced that no one would ever be her friend again after... Never. She needed to help him. Needed to.

The mother was coming closer, still blind to them. "If I say yes, will you leave?"

She nodded.

"Very well then. But go. Quickly now, she is almost upon us."

Taking his advice, Karen climbed down from the bench and bolted over to her mother. Crashing into her, her mother gasped, then pulled her up into her arms. "Where in the world have you been. I turned around for half a second and you'd run off. I told you not to run off. And then I couldn't find you anywhere. Where in the world did you get off to."

Karen turned and pointed at the bench where her friend still sat, looking at her. She was confused. Rather, mom was confused. "He's right over there." She said, and then felt still more confusion. Maybe her mom was expecting a child? Her friend looked at least as old as her mom, but no... there was something more to her confusion then that, she just couldn't tell what.

"What's your name?" Karen asked.

Her mother stared at the crowd. There was nothing where her daughter had pointed. People certainly, but the way Karen had pointed, it seemed that she thought the person was standing still, and there was nothing still in this crowd save themselves, and that was only through great effort on her own part. Certainly no other children. "I think he must have left sweetheart. We need to get going too, if we're going to have dinner ready for your father. Come on." And then she cared Karen away.

As they stepped out of the crowded strip, back onto the grass, and then walked back toward their new home, Karen heard the wind whisper, "I am Alabaster." She was not surprised that no one had spoken. She was not surprised that her mother made no sign of hearing anything. It just meant that she had more in common with her new friend then she had first thought. She smiled.

I remember thinking that Alabaster was a funny name. I never actually understood it until much later. At the time I just thought it must be an old name. Like Penelope, or Angharad. And so I called him Alan. I never imagined that that was the first time he had ever had a name. But I remember him being happy the first time I used it. He was happy any time we were together. Sometimes we would meet at the park. Sometimes at the zoo. Once at the courtyard of the complex I lived at. I got used to the idea that no one else saw him. And often, if we were talking, no one else saw me. It never occurred to me to wonder why he didn't want to be seen, I always just assumed he was shy. And my parents resigned themselves to thinking that I probably had an imaginary friend. Probably, because sometimes, sometimes when I came home I would have projects with me, or trinkets, and they could not figure out how I could have went to those places or done those things without someone's help. But mostly they were just happy that I spent more time outside then I had at the old house. It let them imagine that I was getting to know other people.

They never did understand. I always knew other people. There was no "getting to know them." I usually knew them better than they knew themselves. That was part of why they never liked me. That was a lot of why I didn't bother trying to like them.

One of the reasons they thought that Alan might be imaginary was because I could never tell them what he looked like. Usually he was just a little taller than father, with thick dark hair that was damp and combed smooth and back into a ponytail. But not always. Sometimes his hair was blonde. Sometimes he wasn't much taller than mother. His eyes were usually deep brown, but sometimes they turned blue, sometimes green. Once when we went walking towards an old fruit grove he was telling me about, and instead we found a bunch of construction equipment, I actually saw them glint red. But usually they were brown. His skin color was the funniest. At that point I had never seen him completely alone, never seen him inside, but normally, he would blend. If everyone around us was darkly tanned colored, so was he, even though they couldn't see him. If we were alone at a corner of the park standing in the tree shadows, he was so dark the shadows tried to mix with him, but not so dark as to stand out. It was a really neat trick. I used to stay up in my room at night, trying to learn it, but eventually decided that there were just some things that I could not do. Like I could not get past ten jumps of rope on the playground.

I never really learned where he lived. But I learned what side of town he was on. It was not the good side. And I knew he had a condo, not a rental place like we had. But that was all I knew. It took a long time to find out that much. I don't know how differently things would have turned out if I had found out more. But I didn't. Therefore, when I went looking for him, it was with only the vaguest sense of lost cause that I stepped off of the subway, into the worst imaginable part of town. Looking back, the degree of my naivety still amazes me.

Karen placed her token into the turnstile, and then passing, crossed up into the streets. It was still early out. She was skipping school, but it didn't really matter. Her folks were moving tomorrow, so the school likely wouldn't even call. They would just assume that she had been kept home to help with packing. And it was near the end of the school year anyway. Her grades weren't great, but they were good enough that she probably wouldn't be put back in when they moved. Not until next August when she was to start eighth grade. Maybe things would be better on the other side of town. They certainly couldn't be much worse.

Nobody liked her here. At least none of the kids. Alan liked her just fine. She wasn't sure that she would still be sane if she hadn't made friends with him right at the first. She could relax around him. And he never treated her like she was less then a person, just because she was young. Damn, she didn't want to be young. She wanted to be old enough that she never would have to deal with any of these stupid people again. She could settle down as a hermit somewhere, and then everything would be better. But it was funny... when she was around Alan, she got the impression that he wanted the exact opposite. Not that he was trying to push her to hang out with people, not like her parents did, but like he was happy with her being just the age she was. That if she never got a day older, that that would be absolutely perfect. And so she tried not to worry about it around him, and since she was looking for him, she tried to make a point not to worry about it now.

The buildings were all tight together. Some of them were so old they may have been there for a good century, others were little older than she was. But nothing had been built in this part of town since she had been born. A lot more had been condemned. Graffiti covered walls that had clearly been painted only to cover older graffiti. Litter was everywhere. It was still bright at the moment, though it looked like it might rain later, but she suspected that at least half the street lamps were broken. It was that kind of neighborhood. She tried to hurry.

It would have been simpler if she knew where he lived, but he had always found her. If not found her at home, then just happened to find her while she was off on a field trip, or some other outing. She had never needed to find him. But she needed to let him know that she was moving. Where she was moving to. And so she needed to find him. Or rather, needed him to find her.

She walked systematically, up one street and down the other. She felt as the streets curved, and knew that there were places she was missing, but hoped it would be enough. Hoped that when she got within a block of him that he would come out and find her. She didn't like being here. Didn't like the feelings she was getting off the strangers she was passing. Some of it she understood. Jealousy. Her shoes were too white. Anger. Why was she in their part of town, she didn't belong. Distrust. That one she didn't understand. But she wanted to find him. Wanted to find him and go home. Wherever that was.

She started her walk at just past nine. At one she stopped and ate the lunch her mom had packed for her. At three her mom likely noticed that she was not home yet. At three fifteen it started to rain. At seven o'clock she was sopping wet, and miserable, and almost ready to give up and go home. It was so dark she suspected that the sun had went down, even though the clouds were too thick to tell. Twice the rain had let up just enough to make one hope that it would stop, only to begin again stronger than before. And she hadn't seen a sign of him. No sign of him, even of anyone she might ask. Not that she knew what to say. "Hey, have you seen a guy? His name's Alan, but I think it's short for something else. No I can't tell you what he looks like. He's usually invisible." They'd lock her up! Besides, she doubted he was invisible all the time... Then she spotted the boy.

He was walking her way, or at least was walking on the same side of the street. Looked to be about her age. Obviously local to here, same dusty mixed complexion, same tattered clothes that looked like they had been worn to death instead of loved to death. He was looking up at her, and seemed to perk up when she noticed him. He didn't smile, he didn't even feel happy, but he became more alert. "Hey, Pretty. What you doin' out on a night like this?"

She stared at the boy, shocked. She shivered. A voice in the back of her head said run, but she needed to talk to someone. Just walking wasn't getting her anywhere, and she already knew she was going to be in trouble. She needed to find him. "I..." She paused to think. "I'm looking for a friend. He lives around here."

The boy took a step closer to her. "Does he now? I've got a lot of friends who live around here. You want to meet any of them?"

Amused. He had the gall to stand there, sopping wet, staring at her, and he was amused. She tried to get a better look at him, through the rain. Maybe he wasn't her age. Maybe a year or two older... "No." She shook her head and took a step back, away from him. "I'm looking for someone in particular. I..."

He grabbed her arm as she pulled away. Before she had a chance to scream she was already knocked unconscious.

Karen woke up confused. She was sore, her head, her arms. As she woke up, as she remembered what had happened, she was grateful to realize she was not sore anywhere else. Trying not to move, she listened to the argument near by.

"What the hell were you thinking! You were supposed to be on patrol, you fool, not looking for meat."

"Have you gotten a look at her, man?"

"No, but I got a good look at the purse you grabbed. Junk. No credit cards, no cash. Slit the bitch's throat and throw her back out where you found her..."

Karen stopped listening and tried to figure out where she was. It was still raining. A window? No, an alley. She was still outside, she was just under an overhang. She didn't want to think about what was about to happen. At best she was about to get killed... at worst... They had not bothered to gag her, or even tie her up. Must have figured she would still be knocked out from the blow to her head. Sometimes it was good being a fast healer. Sometimes it wasn't. In this instant, it meant that if they did get hold of her, she would probably live a lot longer than she wanted to. Very carefully, very quietly, she tried to move, inching toward the mouth of the alley. She was almost out, when they spotted her. The guy who had first grabbed her lunged. Falling, she screamed.

Alan strolled casually down the lane. Rain fell steadily around him, upon him, soaking into his hair. It was a beautiful evening, even if it wasn't the best of nights to be out looking for a meal. Still, he was dressed to the nines, and smiled to see his reflection in a window he passed. It was sharp leather, black, this evening. Tailored jacket, shined shoes. The entire ensemble would be completely ruined by the rain, if it had actually been there. Or rather, if it was actually made out of leather. In reality, the clothing was just as weather proof as he was, and for exactly that reason. With a thought he smoothed the wrinkles that had begun, and continued down the street.

Someone nearby was having fun. He could hear the girl screaming from here. Amateurs. Anyone knew that you either gagged the girl, or got her somewhere where the screams couldn't carry. The neighborhood was not so bad yet that no one would call the authorities. Just bad enough that no one would step in themselves. And the authorities would undoubtedly arrive too late. Still, it was annoying. Something about the pitch of the scream was very annoying. Very annoying. They really ought to shut her up. Following the sound, he decided to just step in for a moment. Just a quick point of instruction... Then he turned the corner and saw exactly who the victim was.

She was still trying to claw at her assailant when he went flying across the alley away from her. Somehow, miraculously, she wasn't terribly hurt. Her wrists were badly bruised, her lip cut, her dress torn, but she knew, knew that it had been about to be much much worse. He had already torn away her underclothes... He had been about to...

Someone was picking her up. She panicked again. Punching, clawing, screaming. But it was like hitting a wall. She was trapped! She was trapped and... But all he was doing was holding her. Cradling her in his arms, carrying her away from here. Cautiously, carefully, she tried to feel out, to feel who was carrying her. Worry, for her. Fear, for her. Hate, at them. She sighed and curled further into his arms. He had found her. And saved her. Now she was safe.

She woke up much later. It took her a moment to realize why she wasn't in her own room, in her own pajamas. Then to feel how bruised her arms were. With how fast she healed, she must have looked hideous when he first found her. There was salve on her lip. Her hair had been brushed and braided. She shivered. How soundly had she been sleeping? But did it matter? She was with Alan. She knew he wouldn't let anyone hurt her.

She was still thinking when he stepped into the room. She had not been aware of making any noise. What she was aware of was his fear. Fear so thick she could taste it. She leapt out of bed and ran to him, hugging him. "I'm okay," she said, trying to comfort him. Trying to imagine any other reason why he would be so afraid. But he calmed as she hugged him, as she spoke to him, and so she calmed as well.

He returned her home the next morning, speaking to her parents before he left. She had thought they would be worried. Had thought they would be angry. It took her most of the week to realize that they just plain didn't remember. As far as they cared, she had never been gone. When the police came by, asking about a missing persons file, they sent them away confused. Their daughter was here. No, she had never been missing. Thank you for your time. And then, a week late, though for no reason her parents could remember, they moved to the far end of town.

Karen never asked what happened to her assailants. She would not have wanted to know anyway. No more than she would have wanted to know what would have happened to her if Alan had thought she was afraid of him. If he had thought that she was old enough to be afraid of him. But no one had ever trusted him before, and he did not understand how strong that force was. He did not understand in the slightest.

Meetings were a lot more regular after that. I don't know if he spoke to my parents again, or if it had been included in their first "talk", but they never seemed to notice, or care, when I would disappear once a week. Closest thing to an explanation I ever gave them was that I was going to study. Sometimes I was. Alan was an amazing history tutor. He wasn't half bad at art either, when we had a week of whittling. I still shudder every time I think about where he learned to use a knife. But I didn't know then, and he certainly didn't tell me.

The new school actually was better. Maybe we finally found the right part of town, or maybe I was finally old enough to know how to act. But for once I could finally talk to people without them thinking Why is this misfit trying? I started doing better than just passing in my classes. Some of that I know was Alan's fault. Not that he "talked" to anyone, just that he really did seem interested. It occurred to me more than once that he was old enough he may have never went to school. Not that I knew how old he was, or would have considered asking. It felt rude. But when he talked about how people got by from day to day during the French Revolution, it did not feel like he was quoting a history book.

I dropped out of school when I was seventeen, during my senior year. I didn't really mean to. It might be better to say I was pulled out. Looking back on it now, it was some sort of miracle that I made it to eighth grade, so every year after that was bonus. But I would have rather finished.

It all started with Brian. Brian Reynolds, the first guy to ever seriously flirt with me. Okay, first guy to ever flirt with me in any way, shape, or form. I don't think I was unattractive, it was just... apparently I was unapproachable. Well, Brian approached. And he smiled. And I laughed. And it felt so amazing to have someone as great as Brian want to spend any time with me.

I still read people, but I tried to only do it actively. Tried to not do it all the time. If I had read Brian more often, maybe I would have realized what he was planning, but as it was, all I ever got was that he was happy I was talking to him. Happy that I was warming to his charms. As I have said, Alan was always so much easier to read than normal people.

Our first date was dinner and a movie. Rather, fast food and a cartoon I had been meaning to see for a while. It was great. The second date was when it all went bad. Dancing, he said. So I wore a nice dress, spaghetti straps and everything. I got a friend to help twist my hair up on top of my head... Mom thought I was staying the night at a girl's house, so that we wouldn't have to deal with the hassle of when I got home. I had one-inch high heels. I had makeup. For once in my life, I wanted to look the adult, and for once in my life I couldn't even recognize my reflection.

When the doorbell rang, my life began its decent into hell.

The smile that spread across Brian's face as he first saw Karen should have frightened anyone. But Karen wasn't thinking about ulterior motives. She was thinking about dancing, and swaying, and maybe being brave enough to give Brian a good night kiss, since it would not be her mom waiting inside when the night was over. She wasn't thinking at all. He held the door for her as she climbed into his car, and closed her in. When he climbed in, and started up the engine, she asked, "So where are we going? You said it was a surprise?"

Brian flashed his most charismatic smile as he pulled them out of the driveway. "It is. You'll see when we get there."

They drove for over an hour. At first Karen watched her hands, then the passing scenery, then Brian. Something seemed wrong. She knew where a few of the dance clubs were, even if she had never been invited to one, and none were out this way. Nothing was out this way, save some shops that closed hours since, and a long closed department store. No one she asked at the school even remember what had been in the building, it had been closed since before most of their parents moved to town. She never thought to ask Alan. She was about to say something, when she realized that Brian was parking the car. Again she looked around. They were in the old parking lot. Nothing to see out this way, save an old subway terminal, the last one this side of town, and that she only knew because she had gotten so used to riding. Chances were good that Brian didn't know there was anything out here.

"Where..." She started to ask, and then she felt his hand on her shoulder. Groping along toward her chest. "What!" She spun around to slap him, but in the confines of the car, he caught her wrist easily.

The look in his eyes made her shiver. She didn't need to try to read him. His body language was sending all of the signals loud and clear. Cute girl. Isolated car. No expected time home. She was such an idiot.

He managed to kiss her. Leaned in and pinned her to her chair, smearing her make-up all over her face. All the while, she tried to fight with the door handle. It came open just as he came up for air, and she fell, pushed herself, out of the car. It took him a moment to realize what was happening, and then he spent still more time screaming obscenities at her as she ran. He did not realize she had anywhere to run to. When she disappeared underground, most of the way to the terminal, she heard him renew his curse, and then start running.

It was one of the lesser used stations, where you paid the token at the track instead of at a terminal. As such, she thanked the stars when she realized that timing was with her, that the car was actually there, not expected in fifteen minutes. She was overjoyed to recognize the driver. She had not thought to bring her pass with her, and didn't have any other money short of a twenty.

"Frank!" she said, lunging onto the car. "Frank please! You know I have a pass."

Drivers rotated. She knew most of them, but not all of them knew her on sight. Frank was one of the few who did.

Still looking at the door, he began, "I'm sorry ma'am, but no token..." And then he got a good look at her. "Karen! Christ sakes, girl. What happened to you?"

She swallowed, trying to keep her composer. "I so do not want to talk about it right now. Can we move? I think he's right behind me." As she said this, sure enough, Brain rounded the corner and started approaching the track. Frank nodded, and took off.

All of the seats were empty. They usually were this far out, at this time of night. But Karen just stood there, shivering, gripping one of the poles for dear life. "You want to talk about it?" Frank asked, keeping his attention on the track to give her privacy.

"Not really."

Frank shrugged. She was always a quiet girl. He really couldn't blame her for not wanting to open up to him. "What gate you want?"

She named her stop. He actually took his eyes of the track to stare at her, then went back to driving. He shrugged. "You got a friend out that way I guess. Get off there often enough. You know its past nine right now, right?" He did not feel good at all letting the girl off at that stop. Did she realize the shape she was in? The top of her dress was so torn... And a girl shouldn't go walking that neighborhood during the day, dressed like she was.

She sighed, and tried to smile about him being concerned. "I know what time it is. I'm sure he'll be up." And that was all. She said thank you when he let her off at her stop, and then she jumped the turnstile to get out to the street.

She wasn't thinking straight. If she had been thinking straight she would have realized why he was worried about her. But no one ever bothered her in this neighborhood. Not so much as eye contact since... since then. She assumed that Alan had talked to someone. She had no idea how powerful his persuasive techniques could be.

Five years ago, two teenagers had been found dead in an alley, skinned alive. There were four other members in their gang. Local curiosity soon revealed that they were each also dead. One had had every bone in his body broken. One had been slowly boiled alive in his bath. One didn't seem to have anything wrong with him, he was just dead. Doctors called it a heart attack, for lack of any other ideas. One was missing. At the same time as the deaths someone started visiting each of the remaining gangs. A message was sent out to all the packs that ran the streets. A girl's face. Off-limits. You look at her, you die. You touch her, you and everyone you know dies. She belongs to the Demon. No one ever bothered Karen on her trips to see Alan again. She never asked him why. She didn't want to know.

She reached Alan's doorstep fifteen minutes later and began knocking. He had to be home, he just had to be. She wasn't sure where else she could go. She kept knocking.

Downstairs, Alan sighed, and took a step back from his meal. She was still new, this one. Still had enough strength to shiver as he reached out a hand to brush her hair out of her face. Lightly, amused, he wondered how much was fear and how much was blood loss. The wounds he has sliced across her back still bleed freely. They must have reopened during his thrusting. Gently, he leaned down and kissed her, feeling her repulsion at her own helplessness. She was not chained, not this time. Nor was she in any other way bound, yet she just stood there. Stood there and let him do whatever he wanted, because she already understood that there was nothing she could do to stop him. Looking deep into her eyes, he purred, "I'll be right back." Then he turned, stepped though one of the walls, and she was alone.

Ascending the stairs, he clothed himself, then looked himself over to make certain he had removed all signs of blood. She was delicious, and he hated to leave her unattended, but the room was only sound-proof one way, and he needed to see who was at the door. Needed to... then he recognized the ring. He had given it too her that night, the night that he was first afraid that she would be his. The compulsion was simple. You will not know it is there. If you are ever in danger turn it, and I will know where you are. To his knowledge it was one of the only compulsions he had ever placed on her that had worked. Beyond that, he couldn't even push her to do her homework.

Even without her turning the ring, though, he could tell that it was on the other side of the door. It was a part of him, after all. Which meant that Karen was outside. At this time of night. On the wrong night. He pulled the door open suddenly, not even realizing that he had ran the last steps across the apartment. As she stumbled into the room, he was too shocked at first to realize what he was seeing.

"Alan!" She was in tears. "I'm so glad you were home. I don't know what I would have done... I..."

"GET OUT!" His voice roared.

The hate she felt radiating off of him knocked her back at least as far as the volume. "What?" she sputtered, not understanding, not wanting to understand.

His voice settled, but seemed to hold even more venom, if such was possible. Grabbing her arm, and shoving her out into the hall, he said, "Get. Out. You will never come to this door again." And he slammed the door in her face.

Karen stumbled out into the street, too numb to realize what had happened. Too numb for now to cry. Alan, for his part, was shaking with rage the entire journey back down to his chamber. How had he not seen! How could she have gotten so far...! His meal did not survive the hour.

I don't know what I had been expecting him to do. Fix me cocoa, and tell me everything was alright? But being cast out had never even made it onto the list. It should have. I knew, I had known for a long time, that Alan didn't want me to grow up. It just hadn't occurred to me how he would react if I wasn't a little girl anymore.

It started to rain while I was sitting out on the curb. Great, I remember thinking. Now I'm alone, and abandoned, and broke, and will soon have pneumonia. Just my luck. Then the rain stopped. I looked up. Umbrella. I looked over. And I felt out. I knew better than to go with just anybody now. Curious. Playful. Something else. Something not quite right... but no anger. No lust. No violent feelings. I took the hand he offered and he walked me to one of the bars that was still open. Bought me a drink. Listened to me tell him about how horrible my life was. How everyone had abandoned me, and no one gave a damn anymore. Watched me pass out from the pill he had slipped into my drink.

Karen woke up suddenly. Her head was killing her. First hangover, she thought snidely, and tried to roll over to cradle her head. Then tried to roll over at all. Then panicked.

She was tied down to a table. Tied down straight, arms pulled tight above her head, legs straight but still together. She was still clothed, but that was hardly a comfort, given that she couldn't more. Couldn't even remember how she had gotten there. She started screaming. And then the door opened.

The man from the night before stepped into the room. He smiled at her, petted her hair. Briefly, she reached out, tried to read him, and again all she got was Curious. Playful. And something else. Something that, as she watched him walking around the room, picking up knickknacks that he had left here and there, became increasingly clearly identified as Deranged. She watched him pick up a letter opener, a nutcracker, a lighter, a pair of scissors, a cord. She watched him sit down next to her on the table. Watched him start to heat the letter opener with the flame.

Karen began to turn her ring.

On the far side of town, in an alley not far from his house, Alan looked up sharply from his meal. Two sets of eyes. Through one he saw the rain, the alley, his struggling food. Through the other he saw a man, above him, heating one of the sorriest excuses for a knife that he had ever seen. He had seen the man before, picking up the leavings from the packs, those unlucky enough to live. He had lived in the area about a year now, plying his hobby.

Alan stood up and walked away from the alley. There was no body left behind him. It had been completely absorbed the moment he realized where Karen was. He would have to apologize. He had thought, when she arrived the first time, that the spell had simply not worked. He had been wrong. It had worked, she just had not seen the other fellow as a threat. Not really. She was calling him now. It was time for him to claim his due.

Karen stared horrified up at the letter opener. The tip of it was black from soot, the rest was a faint red from heating. It was poised directly above her right eye. Any time she tried to move, it slipped lower. He was talking to her. So much background noise. She didn't understand a word of it, doubted it mattered. She was about to die, and nothing she did was going to change that. She would die as fast or as slow as he wanted her to, and that was all. She stared up at the letter opener, and tried to ignore everything else he was doing. And tried not to cry.

She was not even conscious of turning the ring. Not until she stopped. Even then she was not sure what she had stopped doing. She stopped when all of the doors in the house slammed open. Saw him jump, and the tool slip, falling toward her eye. She flinched, anticipating the contact, and then instead felt the temperature in the room drop. And someone screamed. She opened her eyes.

There was no letter opener, no sign of where it had gone. She tried to crane around to see what was going on. Someone screamed again, she assumed her attacker. And there was another voice. A calm voice, composed, alien.

"You touched what was mine, little man."

Scream.

"Didn't they tell you?"

Scream.

"Or were you just too full of yourself to listen?"

A longer scream, and then it cut off, with the sound of a break.

Karen renewed her struggles, adding a call of "Help! Help! I'm in here!"

When her rescuer stepped into the room, she went still, and tried not to cringe. Alien, yes alien was a good word for what was coming off of him. Anger. Disgust. And Lust so strong she could feel the air thickening from the need in it. She was lying there, helpless, with her skirt hitched up above her waist and her panties long sliced away, and she shuddered to feel the Lust coming off of him. Karen cringed away, and felt him step closer.

She felt his hands on her ankles first. It took her a moment to realize that he was not running his hands up her legs, but rather was untying her. Then he was closer to her middle, closer to... He was pulling her skirt back down, so that it covered her. As he leaned over her, untying her wrists, she opened her eyes to look at him. Cold, so cold. But something almost familiar as well. She tried her voice. "Who are you?"

He smiled down at her, and paused in his freeing of her. "No one you know."

She shivered. She didn't want to read him, didn't want to know what he was feeling, what he planned to do... but he was like Alan, he was so loud she couldn't help it... like... She swallowed, not wanting to believe what her senses had just told her. He didn't look anything at all like Alan. Too pale, too violent, his eyes were the sharpest ice. But she knew Alan could change what he looked like. He often didn't even seem to realize he was doing it. But none of this man's emotions matched her Alan's. None. Still, the strength of the emotions, the way they were organized... "You... You seem familiar." She tried to hold her voice steady. Felt a wave of... Approval... no, maybe Delight was a better word... sweep off of him.

"Do I?" He raised her hand, and raised her to her feet. "I assure you, Karen, I am a complete stranger to you."

Cold. Cold and Pleasure and Lust. He knew who she was. He knew who she was and he was right. Even if he was Alan, this was an Alan that she had never seen, never dreamed might exist underneath the surface. She shivered, and tried to push the idea from her head. He couldn't be Alan. He couldn't be. And even if he was, this wasn't her Alan. What good would it do her here.

He slipped the ring off of her finger, and as she stared, allowed it to disappear into his own hand. With that single motion, all awareness of it came back. When he first gave it to her, when he told her to forget it, when she used it to call him. She shivered, terrified, and through her hand, which he still held, she knew he felt it.

"Shall we?" he asked, motioning out the door.

"Where?" Her voice cracked. She was trying not to scream, trying not to curl into a ball. This wasn't happening.

He smiled. A warm, predatory smile. "Home. You will be staying with me for some time."

"You..." She tried to make her voice steady, as she rose at his motion. "You said I wasn't welcome. You said..."

Gently, he placed a hand to her lips, to silence her. They were walking, and vaguely she was aware that they were traveling farther than they should, or faster than they should, or some such. This was more than simple invisibility, though the few people they passed did not see them. She was almost glad it would be over soon. Her legs barely felt able to support her, much less walk. And then they stopped.

The room was underground. Pitch black. Small. Earth. "Where are we?"

"The other entrance." He paused, seemed to watch for any reaction from her, despite the blackness. "I said you were no longer welcome at the front door."

She could not see a door, did not feel one along the walls, but didn't ask him. If he said this was an entrance, she was sure it was. But she was terrified of what she heard in his voice. What she felt radiating off of him. "What happens..." She tried to steady her nerves. "What happens when I step through this door?"

He pressed up against her, behind her, and began running his hands along her sides. The smile in his voice as he answered almost made her sick. "Many things happen. What I suspect you want to know it whether or not you will ever step out." He paused. "No."

She tried to stay calm, pulled away from him, and felt him let her go. It was a game. It was all a game to him, and he was having a great time! "What else?"

His eyes twinkled, barely visible in the full dark of the room. "What else? Why anything you can imagine." He was purring, reaching out and brushing his hand gently against her jaw. Gently he whispered to her, "Any torture you can imagine. You will be raped and tortured and nursed back to health and then forced to endure things you might die to even think about. And you will go though this again and again and again. Until there is nothing left of you inside that pretty shell. Until there is nothing left to fight. Then I will kill you." He leaned in to kiss her, a long sensuous kiss, made all the more surreal by the fact that she was fighting, and he was not forcing her in place, but she had nowhere to escape to. "Any other questions?"

"I hate you!"

"I expected as much." And then suddenly the wall was no longer behind her and she was falling, falling into a room of light. The change was too sudden, too disorienting, and she found herself truly falling, about to strike a marble floor, when she felt Alan catch her. Felt her mind trying to make sense of what she was seeing... of Alan stepping out of a mirror. When she had regained her balance, she looked around.

It was a large room, easily fifty feet across, circular. The walls were a pattern of mirrors and curtains. No, mirrors and paintings of curtains. But no doors out. And no door in. The ceiling was easily ten feet, decorated with hooks. The marble floor was smooth and flawless, except were it was interrupted by single shackles. She stared at the floor for a time before she realized that it really was a single set of shackles. They had simply been placed to spread a person out as far as possible.

"Do you like it?"

"I think I'm going to be sick."

He smiled. She was not facing him, but she could see it in one of the mirrors. "Many people have." He placed a hand on her shoulder, almost as though he meant to give comfort, but none came. "I've waited some time to see what you thought of this room. You almost saw it that other night. When I gave you the ring."

Memory came flooding back to her. He had been terrified. She had not been sure of what. He had brushed and braided her hair while he slept. What else... She was going to be sick. It was just a matter of time. "Why didn't you?"

He let his hand brush along to the nap of her neck, massaging her muscles. "You were too young. Only just, but you were still young enough that you were not afraid of me, even after going through that. So I let you go."

The tears started. "I trusted you. You were my friend."

He looked her in the face, through her reflection then, hands still gently kneading her shoulders. "That is correct. I was your friend. Now take off your dress."

It was definitely torture, but not in the way I had been expecting. The first surprise came when he brushed aside one of the curtains. The painting of the curtains. It gave me a headache just to look at him touching the walls those first days. Behind the curtain was an arsenal that my first tormentor would have likely drooled to imagine. A dozen sizes and styles of blades. Clamps with teeth to tear at whatever skin they touched. All polished to a sheen that was obvious despite the rippling set of the paint. From what I remembered of his whittling lessons, I was confident they all held at least as much edge as sheen. Then he reached into the painting and took out the whip.

It was braided leather, with a dozen tassels coming out of the handle. Black, with the shine of tiny chips of metal braided into each strip. I stared at it in horror, not quite able to believe that he was going to use it. Not quite willing to believe it was real. By that point I had already been stripped and told to stand against one of the mirrors. I remember trying to wake up. Pinching my eyes shut and trying desperately to wake up from this nightmare. Then the whip struck.

The pain was like nothing I could imagine. I remember screaming, but I don't remember when I started, or how long it took me to stop. One pain bled into another as stroke fell upon stroke, shredding my back to ribbons. I felt my knees buckle, bringing me to my knees just as the pain stopped. Kill me! Kill me now!, I thought. There was no way I could live through this. I looked down, at the floor, and watch my own blood pooling around my hands. Starring at the floor, trying to focus, I saw his shadow fall over me, felt his hips press against mine...

Then the real torture started. My mind split in two. Part of me was still in my body, crying out, begging him to stop, but none of the sounds were understandable. The pain was too much. I was dying, I knew it. But part of me woke up somewhere else. Somewhere like a vast void. I was a bright light that had shattered into a thousand pieces. The largest piece, the most me piece, throbbed in the center, bleeding out sparks of light. And I knew fear. Something had come. A monster. A painful hideous throbbing monster, floating toward me, shredding me, tearing into, absorbing any part of me it touched. I screamed. I tried to hide. I tried to call out for help in my physical body, but Alan was still attacking me there. There was no way to tell him that something else had come. Something else was trying to kill me! And so I shivered, and bore, and tried to dim myself and hide. Until finally it pulled away. Bloated, it drifted out of my space.

I came back to myself only vaguely realizing that Alan had pulled out. There was blood everywhere. It would take me days to heal. If I had been a normal person it would have taken me weeks, if I would have healed at all. I gasped, tried to clear my thoughts, tried to find a way to tell him about the monster... Before I had a chance he reached over and stroked my chin. "Sleep well," he said, smiling. And I shuddered. Not because he touched me, but because at the exact moment he touched me, the monster, that had drifted away, pulsed. Pulsed in rhythm with his motion. It was with that shiver that I realized there was no monster attacking me at the same time as Alan. Alan was the monster.

Karen slept fitfully that night, and soundly the next day. Sometimes the chamber was dark, sometimes light, but there was no clear light source, no clear way to mark days passing. The room had cleaned itself through some means unseen. Polished marble and spotless mirrors renewed. She was asleep, on what she thought of as her second night, when she woke to realize she was not alone in the room. Alan was there. He was amused.

Karen pulled herself up into a sitting position, flinching as her back muscles rebelled, and glared at him. "What?"

His smile widened. "You're awake."

"So." She left the hostility open in her voice.

He carefully lowered himself to sit beside her, looking into her eyes. "So, I am glad you are awake. I was afraid I had taken too much from you. That you might be too weak to awaken. But you have enough energy to banter."

He was positively giddy. She found it disgusting. Then stopped her thoughts short. Not wake up. Was he serious? But hadn't he... "I thought you wanted to kill me."

Hurt. No facial expression, but clear all the same. "Not yet."

"Why the hell not! What are you waiting for!" The tears were falling before she realized it. She hated him. Hated him for what he did. Hated him for sitting there so calmly and trying to talk to her. Hated him for being whatever it was that he was. Hated him for destroying her life. Hated him for saying that he was her friend.

Resolved. He sighed, and regained his feet, continuing to watch her. "Rest," he said. "I will bring you food in one hour. Will you be able to eat?"

Her stomach began to rumble at the mention of any type of food. She couldn't remember when she last ate... some time before all of this started. She had been sick at least twice since then. But food... "What will it cost me?"

Offended. No... Saddened. Some mix of the two. "I will not harm you while you eat."

"Why should I trust you?"

He shrugged. "Two reasons. One, I have never lied to you."

"NEVER LI-"

He held his hand up to stop her. "I told you when we first met that you did not want me as a friend. That you had no idea what you were asking. I implied to you many times after that that the longer you remained a child, the happier we would each be."

Karen fumed. "What's the second reason?"

"What choice do you have?" He stood up and left the room, letting the lights dim to twilight.

The nightmares started a week in. I had actually begun to get used to the routine, so I guess it figured that something would change. I had healed most of the wounds from the first attack before the second, and all of the wounds from the second before the third. I'm not sure if I was getting faster, or if he was being more gentle. Not that I could really tell. All I knew for certain was that he was delighted about how well I was holding together. Just the previous day I had thrown my bowl of soup across the room at him.

Now that I knew what to look for, I was much better at hiding inside myself during the attacks. The trick was to leave enough of my attention outside for him to think it was all of me, and enough of the shreds lying around for him to have something to harvest. If he ever noticed the difference between that and the first feeding, he never mentioned it. Perhaps he really expected me to have dimmed that much, and this was why he was amazed that I was still as alive as I was.

It was the evening following the disastrous dinner that the dreams began. He had been trying to coddle me, trying to tell me I was too weak to do much. I had actually humored him for the first few minutes, until it became obvious that convalescence was not going to get me out of here, was not even going to get me a repeal on the attacks, and then I threw my dinner at him. He smiled, brushing off the few drops that had actually landed, and said something about maybe there being more life left in me than he thought. Then he left. And the dream came.

I was in a castle, in a cell. Not a dungeon, but definitely a place of confinement. I was chained to the wall, but it did not matter. Father had placed me here. We were here by Father's will, by Father's strength, and were his to do with as he pleased. I looked around the cell briefly, at my siblings. Eleven of us.� The smallest was missing. The quartz. Plain, girl-shaped, made to lure those who wished their lovers utterly helpless, just as I was made for those who wished to become helpless. As I delivered pain, she absorbed it, so we were made. Choice was not an option, and so regret was pointless, but I hated to watch her suffer. That was obviously why we were here.

The walls curved in a circle, with a stadium in the center. We were all held to the walls so that we could not interrupt the performance, but could watch. Father sat at the head of the circle, watching over all. I cringed to remember the last time he had looked so amused. He had forced four of us to starving, a full month without food, and then thrust a single human in with us... one that did not fit any of us. It was not attractive, it did not want pain, it was too delicate for obsidian, too old for granite. But it was all we had, and so we tore it to pieces, each trying to gain enough strength to survive his next amusement. This was his next amusement. Quartz was not present around the wall.

The humans came in first. A dozen, then twenty, I lost count. Last behind them was Quartz. She was as nude as any of us, save for a collar of iron, being led by a chain. The men began taking turns. At first I did not understand. Was this meant to make us jealous, giving her so much food while leaving us to starve? If so, Father understood us very little. We were all more loyal to each other than that. It was why we had each received equal fourths.

I was pulled out of my musing by the thoughts of the others, pulled back to witnessing our Father's "amusement." She was screaming. Not just screaming aloud, but screaming in our minds. We each fought to keep from cringing. There was no telling what Father would do, if he realized we could speak to each other thus. Then I realize what was happening. We all realized. She was full. She had been full some three humans ago, but still they piled onto her, forcing her tiny form to accept their gropes, their thrusts. Father was not draining off the extra energy! He was forcing her to take it! And he was laughing. Laughing as she screamed!

I felt the room around me pulse, then shiver at the instant that she shattered. Gone, forever, for his amusement. We turned on him as one then. Alone he could have killed any of us, but all together, we pummeled him to death. Shattered all of his bones and then tore out his organs. Destroyed everything that might have been able to call back the magus we so hated. Destroyed our entire reason for existing.

When I awoke, shaking, I knew that it wasn't a dream. I had been reading for too many years, interpreting for too many souls. I knew a memory when I felt one. Not my memory, but a memory just as truly. I was quietly sick in the corner.

Karen watched him walk the perimeter of the room. All the curtains were pulled back. All of the tools on display. She tried not to look at them, silently aware that whatever drew her attention the strongest was invariably what he chose. She had no idea if he was forcing her to think about her fate, or legitimately letting her chose her torture. Neither idea was appealing.

She had been here a month, as best she could tell. She could also tell that he was amazed she was still able to stand, that she was no weaker than the first day she arrived. Obviously this was not the norm. Amazed, but quietly happy. The dreams were coming more regularly now, each night. She was also healing much faster. She had to fight her body's instinct to keep any lash marks from beginning to knit while he was still in the room. The dreams told her how bad that would have been.

They had killed every mage. Not just mages like their creator, whatever he had been, but any type. Transmuters, teleporters, weather witches, and hedge mages. Anyone who worked more than sleight of hand, dead. Some of them even killed those, just to try to make the world forget. Most of the victims never even knew they had been mages. It was at their first inkling of difference that they were killed. While they were still weak. Alan had no idea what he held in his chamber, and Karen had no idea how he was blind. But she refused to do anything that would tip him off before she had a plan.

Sighing, pulling herself back into the now, she looked up at the walls. It was almost attractive, the degree of artistry he took in arranging each wall. This one resembled a flower, with how the blades were laid together. That one looked like a dragon, with candles instead of flame. The one nearest what she had witnessed to be his exit held wires, carefully arranged to remind the mind of a man screaming. Nothing that was so obvious as to be seen if you just looked, but all there all the same. Lastly, she looked up.

It hung from the ceiling, from the hooks she had first spotted. She was not sure if he had placed it there the first day it was used, or if it had hung above her many nights, while she slept, and dreamed. To the blind eye it resemble a clump of chains, hanging limp, but she knew from personal experience that it also held support beams and manacles. Seeing where her attention had fallen, Alan made a motion, must have turned some unseen lever, and it began to lower itself to within reach.

Magic, her mind chided her. Admit it is magic, and you have no idea how he is doing it, save but that it is probably part of why he is killing you. Part of what he meant by starving. That was a lot of what infuriated her. At times like this, when it was time to "feed," he would be distant, violent, almost mechanical. But at other times, when he brought her bath water, or food, he would almost, almost, resemble the man she had grown up with. The Alan who had taught her how to tell when a flower was about to open, and talked to her like she was a real person, and equal, not just a child. And she knew, with a cold certainty, with the growing acuteness of her familiarity reading him, that it was an act. That he did it because of some sense of entrapment, and of duty, not because he actually derived any pleasure from peeling her skin from her bones. From the sex he at least got a sense of fulfillment, or rather from the feeding that the sex was a cover for... a means to? But he often feigned interest in everything he did first. As though it were a necessary evil. But if it was only a necessary evil, why was it getting worse every session?

Then it began, and the scream that was ripped from her drove the rest of her thoughts far from her mind.

Karen lay awake, shivering. What had happened? He always... she had come to expect... even in the dreams, when she was him, he always... What had changed? Did he know? She had to do something now. She didn't want to die. What if he came back and... What if he killed her? She couldn't bear it. The idea of dying accidentally during one of the sessions didn't worry her anymore. She knew he didn't want her dead. She had said as much to him once, during one of his quieter visits, that he did not want her dead. He had been surprised that she could tell. It was at that point that she realized how different their powers were. He could not read. Not her. She didn't think he could read at all... while she had been coming to read more of him with every passing day. Some times she almost thought she could catch his thoughts, like his siblings had, instead of just his emotions.

But what to do? What could she do? Absently, she reached into one of the walls and played with the fabric of the curtain. The illusion had long since stopped giving her a headache. She knew the door she took in was one-way. The door he used undoubtedly had him on the other side. The only way out would be while he was in here. But then she would have to get past him. She didn't even know what he could do, what his real limits where. She sighed. It couldn't be helped.

Five hours later she felt him enter the room, felt the ripple of shock run through him that she suspected was him dropping the tray he was carrying. She was too deep in trance to actually hear it fall. It was all she could think of, to watch him like this, to try to see when he used his magic, to see what he did, how fast it was burned. If she could figure out how he worked, maybe she could figure out how to work around him. But it had meant falling into her other self, falling almost completely, and she was sure he would notice. She had not realized what he would think.

The thoughts screamed at her, the emotions desperate. No! Come back! She felt him cradling her distant body, felt his agony as he denied what must have happened. He thought he had killed her, or nearly. Her mind, where she was, sparked with curiosity. This must be what he had been expecting her to look like after all this time. Limp, near dead, heart so slow that he only just felt it. All this time he had expected her to come to this, but now that it had happened, he hated himself for it. Hated that he had taken too much, too quickly, had pushed her too far. She wasmortal. He had been afraid of something else, but she was, and he had killed her.

Karen watched him, at a loss. She wasn't dead. She knew she wasn't. She could drift back into that body at any time. But she was a little afraid to. If she came back, wouldn't that prove to him that she was something else? Wouldn't that guarantee he killed her, no matter his regret now? So she watched. Then she felt it.

The tiniest tendril of energy, her energy, creeping along inside of her. She could see where it started from Alan, see it start at his physical body, and at the mass of energy she had come to think of as him as well, felt it drift out of them, and into her, under her skin, through her blood, and gently, so gently, try to massage her heart. Try to make it beat faster.

He wants me to live! She thought with delight, drifting cloaked in her other space.

The tendril moved, lower, and it took her a good deal of attention to realize what it was doing. Her breathing was beginning to quicken. It was not simply her heart he was stroking into response. Her nerves tingled with the sensation, distance though it was. And unfamiliar. He had taken the time to draw her to climax before, yes, though never so gently, and never using those nerves. Not the skin, but the nerves themselves, anchored deep within her body. When she could not fight it any more, when she final gave in, it was with a great rush of joy that her mind fled back into her body, fully uncloaked. Then she realized her mistake.

The magic was gone from his hands, from his aura. Fear. Fear and Hate radiated off of him. Fool, he thought, and she knew the thought was directed against himself, not her. He had caste her body away from him in his initial shock. He knew now, and she was trapped.

He came at her at a run and numbly, too confused to think, she stood in his path and let him lift her. His first swing slammed her into the mirror. She felt her nose break. His second ground her into the floor, shattering her shoulder. His third blow wedged her into the curtain walls, where she could feel the flats of the tools digging into her back. It took her a moment to realize why this was supposed to be painful. Then she remember the illusions. They felt more solid. She was not falling. She was imbedded in the illusion of stone. If she had not come to understand its nature, she would be suffocating now, painfully, as her lungs realized that air could not pass through stone. Then, realizing that she was still alive, he began to strike her with his fists.

Her body fought as best it could. Her second rib had been shattered just as her nose finished healing. She felt a whirling of forces as unnamed organs fought to stay whole and perform their functions. Twice her right lung had been punctured, and still he was coming. Still he was trying to kill her. Trying to end the taint that she embodied in his mind. And so, crying, she did the unimaginable. She took back what he had stolen from her.

Karen cringed as she opened the last door. She wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. It was all here, exactly as she remembered it. His apartment. Where they would talk for hours. Where he would help her with her homework. She knew where she was, exactly where she was. If she had been willing to think about it, she probably would have known all along. But what difference did it make.

She explored his bedroom first. The same stiff mattress, the same feathery quilt. The closet held one terrycloth bathrobe, but nothing else. The dresser held a small collection of wallets, but no clothes. At first she wondered why he would have stooped to picking pockets, but then she looked at the ids, and the dates on the bills. Not random wallets, but whatever his victims had been carrying the night they were harvested. Often not enough for more than a quick bite of food, sometimes enough for a month of groceries. One billfold held no money, only credit cards, all gold, with expiration dates from back when having a gold card actually meant something. The face on the county club membership looked familiar, and Karen vaguely wondered if she had made the papers, back when she went missing. Then she realized what she was doing, and nearly caught her fingers in the drawer, she slammed it so fast.

Dead. They were all dead. Like she was almost dead. And she was just ruffling through what was left of them, and wishing she could bring him back. She darted into the familiar bathroom and was thoroughly sick. What type of monster was she! Maybe she should have let him kill her?

As minutes ticked by, the thoughts passed. She knew why he kept the wallets. Food wasn't free, and he always fed them. She doubted he had fed her any better fare than the others, but she had always had her favorites to eat. Not just soup, but cream of tomato, with little bits of salted popcorn. Not just chicken, but slow cooked chicken breast that had been seasoned with herbs she couldn't name, and butter. At first she had thought he did it to mock her, to show how much he knew about her, while she knew nothing about him. Slowly it had come to her that he didn't think like that. All he meant to do was make her meals pleasant, and since he knew what she wanted to eat, assumed that that would make them more pleasant. He could not have known the others as well as her, and vaguely, in the beginning, she had wondered if he supplied as much variety for them. She thought it again now, then remembered.

How long had she lived compared to any of them? At most he had needed to supply three meals for each. After that they would have been too drained to eat, and then it was only time until they died. The money was what was left over. Probably kept so that he could supply someone with a rich fare, even if their own wallet had been empty. The wallets themselves weren't so much trophies as they were litter. Old wrappers that he never got around to throwing away, or never got around to taking the last dollar from.

Shoulders newly steadied, she opened the drawer again and counted. Three hundred seventeen dollars. Two dollars and thirty-three cents from those that had change catches attached. More than enough to buy something simple to eat. She had no idea why she was hungry. It felt like food should be the farthest thing from her mind, and she still felt nauseous any time she tried to focus on what had just happened, on what had been happening, but at the same time, she felt starved to the bone. As though she had been draining reserves that she never knew she had. Reflecting on that thought, perhaps she had been doing just that.

She decided to start with something simple. Broth, or maybe some bread. The kitchen did not yield much. It seemed he bought what was needed for each meal and never saved leftovers. The only things she found in the cupboards were sweets left over from when she would visit him after school. The types of things a ten year old would enjoy eating. Fruit wraps and pop-tarts. It would have been a couple months ago he bought them, back when she was visiting after school. It felt like lifetimes ago.

The food lasted less than fifteen minutes. The sugar rush barely lasted longer than the time it took to eat it. In the end she decided to order out. It was too much to consider facing other people. Too much to consider walking back down the stairs in her current state. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew that she was going to need fuel for whatever she was going to try to do... even then it might not work... but she had burned herself to low to try anything else without food.

I was exhausted when it was over. Physically, mentally, probably spiritually in ways I couldn't imagine. But it was done. Gently, I felt my body stand up and I approached the statue. Felt my hands, gently holding the spark, reach into the solid stone. Felt it take. Then I left. There was a timer, and I did not want to be in this room when he woke up.

Alan felt his heart beat with a start. Felt his body jerk back into motion. He was dead! He knew it... had felt his soul being ripped from him as the witch destroyed him. Destroyed him for being too slow to act, and was likely hunting his siblings to kill them even now. His mind stopped.

If she killed him, why was he still standing here? And why did he have a heart beat?

He tried to remember, to think back to the last moments. He had not known what she was, had thought she was near dead. Had tried to pull her back. That was when she had turned on him, when she had flared to life. At least as bright as the creator. He almost thought more so. It had been theorized... If no weak mages were allowed to exist, perhaps the world would make stronger ones... But it had not. They had killed them all, of every strength. But had they? He had not even seen her. How long had she been awake? Certain since puberty. No mage had ever awakened before then, but how had he not seen? He stopped thinking about if's and tried to examine what she had done to him.

To his amazement, there was no actual damage. Changes, but nothing severe. The heartbeat, but he could always make a heartbeat, it just took effort. Now it took effort for it to stop. But that was all. A tang sensation in his mouth. It took him a moment to realize the sensation must be flavor. Not a practical change, as he had no stomach, but flavor? Little changes, all of them. There was something else in his mind. He feared that more than anything. She had not changed his sense of self, not that he could tell, but she had changed something, and he could find no way to discover it. Undoubtedly it would come when he least expected it, and likely cause his death. Filled with fear, he approached the exit, and only lightly felt his trepidation lift when he discovered he cold still pass through.

The room was unchanged. The bed had been sat upon, but that was all. The closet open, his robe missing. He had liked the robe. Why did she take it? His mind drifted, not wanting him to realize what it was telling him. He stepped into the living room.

The shades were down. The front door locked. He was walking past the couch, toward the window, when he spotted her, curled up asleep, wearing his robe. He collapsed to his knees then, not just at the sight of her, but at the realization of what she had done. Blue... the softest of sky blues... that was the color of the robe. He had forgotten. He knelt in front of her sleeping form and for the first time in his existence, cried.

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