By Patti Roberts

Two Worlds. One Ancient – One New.

License Notes

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work. This book is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents depicted herein are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

The Definition Of Progeny:

One born of, begotten by, or derived from another; an offspring or a descendant.

http://www.thefreedictionary.com/progeny

This book is dedicated to a work colleague and friend.

David Nason

Dave. In our hearts you rest. In our memories, you are ours to keep. Save a seat for us, your friends, because this is not the end. Until then, my friend, we shall smile, raise a glass and celebrate a life well lived. With love, Patti X

1953 – 2011

R.I.P.

The Ancient World of Altair awaits…

Map of Altair – The Ancient World

http://bit.ly/ParadoxMapandINFO

Other series by this author

Witchwood Estate – Episodic TV length episodes.

Currently Free - http://authl.it/33m

Contents

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1 – Deliver Us From Evil

CHAPTER 2 – The Return

CHAPTER 3 – The Witches’ Grimoire

CHAPTER 4 – Earth To Earth

CHAPTER 5 – Where Was God?

CHAPTER 6 – Progeny Of Innocence

CHAPTER 7 – How Did I Get Here?

CHAPTER 8 – House Guest

CHAPTER 9 – Hollow Moon

CHAPTER 10 – With Me Always

CHAPTER 11 – First Kiss

CHAPTER 12 – The Cat And The Canary

CHAPTER 13 – The First Cut

CHAPTER 14 – The Ferryman

CHAPTER 15 – Urban Legend

CHAPTER 16 – Ambrosia X

CHAPTER 17 – The Plan

CHAPTER 18 – Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep

CHAPTER 19 – The Gathering

CHAPTER 20 - Steal The Light

CHAPTER 21 – End Of Days

CHAPTER 22 – Requiem For A Dream

CHAPTER 23 – Knock, knock!

CHAPTER 24 - Flowers For Ambrosia

CHAPTER 25 – Déjà vu.

CHAPTER 26 – Watch You Burn

CHAPTER 27 – Riley Rivers

CHAPTER 29 – The Promise

CHAPTER 30 – Forbidden Fruit

An Excerpt from Bound By Blood

CHAPTER 1 – Beasts Of Burden

Acknowledgements And Special Thanks

Contact

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

PROLOGUE

The Ancient World - Altair

My name is Juliette. A very long time ago, during a war that tore my world apart, I died.

It was 1080 AD and the Grigorians, under the rule of Lord Cerberus, had conquered the Bulguardian Army and seized the Imperial City of Altair. Today, towards the mountainous lands further south, the battle continues.

Although victorious in battle, the Grigorians had failed to secure the one prize that mattered most: mortal souls. Altair, all but deserted, had left the favored Grigorian food source all but depleted. Those souls that had remained following the siege during the March Equinox had since fled to the south to join the resistance fighters high in the Mountains of An-nasr, the home of the majestic wedge-tailed eagle, the Aquila Audax, and the natural enemy of the Grigorian race. The Grigorians, who fear naught, yet feared this massive winged bird that ruled all the skies in the vast southern lands.

The Bulguardians, however, had been triumphant in the ways that did matter.

The three remaining Royal Guardians, with the strength and numbers of the Royal Guard, had been triumphant in safely spiriting away the Seven Pinnacles and their prized possessions of mortal souls.

The four Natural Pinnacles, the WAFEs - Water, Air, Fire, Earth, and the three Supreme Pinnacles - Birth, Death, and Emotion, under escort of the Royal Guard, had taken human form and had fallen first. Then, in the safe confines of the Golden Ark, the mortal souls began their return journey to Earth under the watchful eye of Lukita, the most powerful High Priestess in the Realm.

There was, however, a complication the Royal Guardians had not foreseen. Several of The Seven Pinnacles, including members of the Royal guard, had been scattered far across the Earth for hundreds of years, with little or no recollection of who or what they were.

Some were sent to find and protect. Others were sent to track and destroy.

Today, my soul lives on in the heart of a young girl. I faithfully continue to play my part in this war between good and evil. But nine hundred years can pass so slowly, when all you want to do is go home.

The New World – Earth

Grace is not a little girl anymore! And as a teenager, Grace’s visions become more frequent, urgent, torturing her life further still. The answers she hopes to find in her visions only leave her asking more questions... who is Juliette?

When the charismatic Damon Draco begins to take an interest in Grace, it doesn’t take long before Grace falls for his alluring charm, a charm she doesn't quite understand. However, when Riley Rivers turns up in Grace's class one day, she starts to question the feelings she has for Damon.

Then death comes knocking... and when three of Grace’s school friends are found burned to death, and their parents die in a fatal car accident that same weekend, some start to wonder if it really was just a coincidence, or a contrived plan to wipe out an entire family? And if so, why, and by whom? And more importantly, will evil strike again?

You can bet your soul on it!

CHAPTER 1 – Deliver Us From Evil

For as a lamb is brought to slaughter, so she stands, this innocent, before the king.

Geoffrey Chaucer: Man of Law's Tale, 1386

Altair – The Royal Palace

Year – 1081 AD

The beast, nothing more than a frail lamb, lay paralyzed and trembling on the glistening silver platter. It lay there, exposed, with nothing to accompany or protect.

"Really, you expect me to feed on this, this pathetic animal?" Abaddon snorted, standing with his arms folded tight across his puffed-up chest. He stared down at the animal that had been placed before him. The tiny, beady eye of the beast reflected the flames blazing hungrily in the massive stone fireplace. Black eyes rolled frantically to and fro in their orbits, searching Abaddon’s private dining chamber in an eager bid to procure a swift path to freedom. Regardless of the desperate animal's resolve to escape this predicament, the scales of justice did not offer mercy. This creature surely was a lamb to the slaughter.

The young Mongol girl with the black-inked forehead backed slowly away from the table, her hands clasped in tight fists behind her back. Her satiny skin glistened in the muted glow from the blazing torches hanging on the high stone wall behind her. Her head remained bowed in a show of fearful respect.

"Apologies, Master," she offered, in an effort to pacify Abaddon’s mounting anger.

With a quick flick of his wrist, he flung an ornate dining chair effortlessly across the room and into the crackling fireplace. Flames and a blast of glowing embers exploded across the room.

"This is outrageous; this is a meal fit for a peasant, and yet still you dare place it before me!" Abaddon’s fist smashed down hard on the surface of the mahogany dining table, shattering a lead crystal decanter and a single goblet. The blood-red liquid, freed from its crystal constraints, made a slow passage down the deep grooves in the timber tabletop before congealing droplets pooled on the marble floor below.

The girl flinched. "Shall I remove the animal, Master?" she asked, then quickly continued. "Perhaps you would prefer the taste of my flesh?" She pushed her long, black, flowing hair away from her shoulders, exposing her throat and barely-covered breasts.

"Hmmm," Abaddon murmured, considering her proposal. "What is your name?" he asked the girl, almost interested.

The blood vessel on her throat pulsed steadily beneath her flawless skin, summoning him closer. It was certainly a worthy offer, and one that he thought about now with careful consideration.

He glanced at the animal before him. A fresh spasm of fear bent the animal's head back at a grotesque angle. White froth foamed and dripped from the beast’s twisted mouth. Abaddon scowled. The girl certainly was offering him a worthier choice. The scales tipped…

"Temulun," she answered, softly, but with a hint of something resembling pride.

He studied her as one would a bug on a sliver of glass under a microscope, waiting for dissection.

"This would indeed be an honor for your family, if I were to accept this offer, would it not?" Abaddon said, circling Temulun, tracing his finger slowly down her slender throat, then further, beneath the meager brown fabric that only just managed to conceal her child-like breasts. He felt her heartbeat quicken beneath his fingertips, and smiled. "Lead us not into temptation, dear girl, but deliver us from evil..." He murmured the words softly in her ear. "Are you evil, Temulun?" he asked, circling her tiny frame.

"No, Master," she replied. "Your father honored our family once, many years ago, by taking my sister Cheren in the last Great War, when food had also become scarce. My family has been grateful for the opportunities that your father bestowed upon us."

"Ahh, yes. My father, the mighty Lord Grig. Before my beloved father’s unfortunate journey into the afterlife. Perhaps your sister was a curse, dear Temulun? She was, after all, the last one to see my father alive. Was she not?" Abaddon feigned a remorseful sigh. Bitter memories still toyed with his thoughts, burdening him with disappointment and resentment. He was acutely aware that his father had only ever had real affection for his brother Cerberus, and Theria, his sister. The Gods would certainly not help him if anyone were to gain knowledge that it had been by his, Abaddon’s, hand that his father had died, and not by the hand of a subordinate half-breed bastard son of his father’s.

"I do believe that your brother-" Temulun began.

Abaddon’s hand snapped up and squeezed Temulun’s mouth shut. "Do not ever speak of that half-breed bastard as being my brother. He is not worthy of that title. Do you understand me?" he asked, shoving her away forcibly.

Temulun stumbled and fell backward hard against the massive dining table, but did not fall. The second goblet teetered precariously for a moment, and then smashed to the floor at her feet.

"Apologies, Master. I will not make the mistake again," she said, wiping a trickle of warm blood from her lips.

He eyed her through narrowed yellow slits, but inwardly he was pleased. Pleased that she, too, thought it had been the bastard son who had taken his father’s life. The truth about his murderous deed was indeed still safe.

"See that you don’t, otherwise I will have your head on a stick for the eagle," he said, stalking away.

He swiped his hand through the air, and watched as splintered pieces of timber from the shattered chair and broken shards of glass flew effortlessly into the massive fireplace, forcing a plume of flames and grey smoke to spew out into the room. "Yes, yes, yes, I remember your sister only too well. My father was most pleased with Cheren’s offering. She was a beauty, your sister, as indeed you are." He glided toward her and lifted her chin abruptly with his finger, then leaned in and slowly snaked his tongue along the side of her face, tasting her. He had other plans for this girl named Temulun, he decided. Death would not be her fate on this day. "Go now," he demanded, waving her off with his hand, dismissing her.

"And the beast, Master, shall I-"

"Leave it," he spat. "Doors," he commanded.

Two black-clad Mongols with massive arms heaved the heavy timber doors open wide. Their long, thin beards, twisted and braided with ivory-colored beads made from human bones, dangled below their chins.

Temulun hesitated for a moment, then scurried quickly from the room, past the leering guards, praying that they had not overheard Abaddon’s rejection of her. She would not tell her family that she had been undesired by the Master. That he had preferred the flesh of the beast to her own. That humiliation, she would keep to herself. Perhaps he would allow her to please him in other ways. His unquenchable desires were far from a secret in the Realm. She would have another opportunity, as her sister had had, to complete her task. She was determined to fulfill her destiny and make her people proud.

Abaddon waited until the doors had completely closed behind the girl before he returned his gaze to the trembling beast in front of him. He studied the frenzied, unblinking eyes as they watched him, then looked further down to where a beating heart pounded hard against a soft, woolen chest. Snow white, and pure as the driven snow on the peaks of Mount An-nasr. He ran his hand along the beast, petting it, quieting it, soothing it, then he swiftly pulled his hand away and thrust his fist deep into the ribcage of the animal. He twisted his hand effortlessly through broken bone and sinew, and separated thumping heart from beast. He watched it for a moment with morbid curiosity as it pulsed spasmodically in the palm of his bloodied hand. Then he curled his lips back and lunged into it hungrily, savoring it as one would a perfectly ripe blood plum. The animal’s blood was warm and bittersweet on his tongue; it would suffice, ward off his appetite, for now. However, it would not be long until his uncontrollable thirst returned, for human blood and the gratification obtained from the mortal soul. The mortal soul: the forbidden fruit, the personification of immortality for his kind.

He swiped his bloodied hand across his chin. Droplets of blood marked the front of his white, ruffled shirt. He tilted his head back and let a guttural howl burst from his lips. Far below, in the darkness outside, he heard others respond in kind.

It was time, he decided, letting the heart fall away from his hand and onto the ground with a plop. The animal’s blood-drenched woolly chest was still now. Only the flickering flames from the crackling fireplace were mirrored in the glazed eyeballs, relaxed now in death. A pink tongue dripping with crimson saliva hung flaccidly from its open mouth.

Abaddon heaved himself at the massive timber doors and pushed them open wide, startling the two guards standing rigidly at the doorway outside. He saw no reason to delay any longer. It had been centuries since he had left the Realm.

Pandora sashayed up the arched hall toward him; she was eager to resume their earlier encounter - before Theria’s unexpected interruption.

"Abaddon, I-" she began, eyeing the bloodied fabric sticking to his chest.

"Not now," he said, cutting her off and walking past her without any further concern. His thoughts were solely driven by his unyielding desire for human blood, and, of course, the incredible high attained from the mortal soul. The blood of the beast had only quickened his craving for more.

"Then I will-"

"Go find someone else to entertain you," Abaddon said, irritated by the conversation. "I am sure there is somebody else floating around here somewhere that will pander to your incessant needs. Your husband, perhaps? That would be a change, now wouldn’t it?" He smiled, amused by his words. Then he began chanting as he strode away. "My dear beloved Father, which art now in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy Kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Yes, on earth indeed," he chuckled. "Forever and ever…" Then Abaddon descended the curving staircase, five stairs at a time, until he reached the bottom only seconds later.

Pandora turned away and snorted, "Idiot..." She walked swiftly toward the two men standing on either side of the massive doors, and stood for a moment, appraising them. To the larger, taller man she said, "Come, I have something for you to do." She ran his twisted beard across the palm of her hand, rolling the beads between her fingers, then tightened her grip on the man’s long, black, braided whiskers and led him away.

CHAPTER 2 – The Return

Abaddon swept across the floor until he came to the centre of the majestic foyer. He positioned himself on an elaborate gold engraving of a giant oak tree carved in the black marble floor. A portal to the outer worlds. He raised his arms, imitating the overwhelming structure of Christ the Redeemer, and prepared for his fall. The floor at his feet began to quiver and slowly fall away, exposing a bottomless starlit abyss below the golden oak beneath his feet. A violent spasm contorted his shoulders. Seconds later, black feathered wings shot out from between his shoulder blades and rippled with anticipation.

Suddenly, the massive timber doors, embossed with an imposing golden eagle, flew open, startling him. His head snapped around. His eyes bored into the eyes of this unexpected intruder. A guttural hissing sound seethed through his clenched teeth. His stare was met with a set of almost equally yellow eyes. The marble floor beneath his feet solidified once again. He exhaled as his massive wings slowly recoiled and were gone.

"Oh brother, I did not mean to startle you," Cerberus chuckled as he discarded his heavily engraved sword and shield noisily on the floor. He unlatched a golden clasp at his throat, whipped a black knee-length cloak, trimmed in red, off his shoulders and dragged it across his forehead and his matted fair hair. Then he wiped the heavy fabric down his chest before letting it drop to the floor beside his booted feet. He wiped his hands down his black leather thighs, then pulled his brother toward him, embracing him. He pounded his hands on Abaddon’s back and released him. "I have missed you, my brother."

"And I you, brother," Abaddon replied, with a smile that did not reach his eyes. He raised his hands and clapped them sharply together. The crack of his hands resonated off the cold stone structure bracing the high embossed ceiling overhead. Lifelike paintings of twelve winged Guardians, clothed in long flowing robes, looked down from above. Their magnificent white wings arched high above their heads and met at the apex of the domed ceiling, where a replica of the golden oak mirrored the emblem on the floor directly below.

Temulun quickly appeared, a silver-haired girl scurrying dutifully behind her. Abaddon studied the girl as she came to an awkward halt beside Temulun. The appearance of this girl mystified Abaddon. Such an exquisite little creature, he mused.

Unlike Temulun’s Khitan coloring of yellowish skin and black-brown almond eyes, typical of her Mongol heritage, Keyla’s skin was porcelain white, almost translucent. She was tiny, a good two hands shorter than Temulun, and her waist-length hair was a cascade of glossy silver strands, decorated with an assortment of tiny colored bells and ribbons. Around her slender neck was a string of shiny red beads. She had the bluest of eyes, Abaddon could tell, although she did not raise them to meet his penetrating gaze, but stood silently behind Temulun.

A Bakhna Rakhna child, Abaddon concluded, raising his eyebrows in surprise.

* * *

The Bakhna People had all but become extinct from the Imperial city of Altair during The Great War, eons past. Those few who had survived the brutality of The Great War had fled empty-handed and on foot in the dead of night. Clothed in fine silks, leather sandals adorning their feet, they began the long, arduous journey in a bid to reach their homeland in the southern mountains. Firstly, the journey would take them through a mystical realm, the Forest Of Doors, where the enemy, superstitious in the ways of old, would not follow.

The Forest People, whose bloodlines spanned thousands of centuries, were both revered and feared. Their magic was powerful and their abilities were many. The Goddess Danu, the divine mother of all Celtic Gods, wisdom and wind, ruled the Forest Kingdom and its people. Her people protected and nurtured all things flora and fauna, from the tiniest bug to the grandest of trees. They respected and lived as one with Mother Nature, and reverently protected her vast Kingdom. In return, Mother Nature provided food, clothing, and shelter for the Forest People.

The Forest People welcomed the Bakhna Rakhna as their ancestors had once done. They taught the Bakhna the ways of their forest and its people, the living and the dead. They taught them the magic of the massive Oaks, Ash, Apple, Goat Willow, and Yew, the sacred trees of the forest: which ones provided nourishment, and which ones were lethal and would kill in a heartbeat.

During the day the village men tended fields of potatoes, barley, carrots, and onions. They herded cows, sheep, and pigs. The women gathered nuts and fruit from the forest. Wild berries, melons, and roots from the Dandelion were plentiful. Herbs were gathered for healing and magic. The village centre, built on a grassy knoll on the edge of the surrounding forest, was dotted with squat stone huts, with thatched roofs that provided shelter at night. In the evenings, men, women and children, their arms full of fresh produce and other wares, would meet in the village center to trade. Long rows of timber tables and benches were arranged under a high thatched roof. In the centre was a kitchen, where pots bubbled over open fires as goose and chicken eggs bobbed up and down in the boiling water. Various others were filled with lamb stew, fish, and vegetables. Sweet breads, bacon and cabbage pies were baked in stone ovens. The women busied themselves smoking fish and goats’ cheese with wood chips from the Oak. Some of the older women nursed babes, knitted woolen tunics, or darned clothing manufactured from the pulp of the Beech tree. The menfolk tended their stills, discussed the day’s news, the next crop due, a cow in labor, the change of the weather, or simply gossiped. Tall wooden goblets were filled with warm, freshly brewed beer, wine, or goat’s milk for the children. After the evening meal, the Bakhna and Forest People huddled together around fires fueled by branches from the Beech tree, and told spirit stories of the time before time. Young men sang and played tunes on small timber flutes, drums, and fiddles. Couples danced and small children squealed with delight as fireflies danced about their heads.

And when the evening birds sang at the close of each day, beckoning the nocturnal creatures to wake, it was a signal for parents to lay children to rest. Whispery fingers of smoke from hearths drifted lazily from thatched rooftops. A mismatch of patchwork fabrics stitched and stuffed with hay and wool provided soft bedding. One by one the candles and lanterns from the huts began to burn down.

Deep in the forest, a muted glow rose from behind a dense wall of forest trees. A ring of massive stone pillars, some standing as much as forty-six hands high and weighing forty tons, stood rigid and towered over an inner circle of smaller, bluish stones. In the center of this monument stood a small, yet forbidding, castle constructed from stone and polished trunks from the ancient oak trees. Lanterns burned brightly in arched window frames, attracting masses of tiny flying insects. Small black bats swarmed frantically about the lanterns, and gorged themselves from dusk to dawn on the buzzing morsels. When the blue moons rose higher in the night sky, flanked by a million and one stars, parts of the forest slipped into a deep sleep as others began to wake. Somewhere, not too far away, an owl hooted as it winged its way high among the treetops to begin its evening rounds. Soon, from the shadows, others followed suit.

* * *

Seven days later, with sacks filled with smoked fish, cheese, boiled eggs, nuts, berries and waterskins bloated with fresh river water, it was time for the Bakhna people to begin the next leg in their journey home. They stood quietly on the edge of the thick forest, laden with their supplies, and peered out apprehensively across the vast, desolate red sands of the Utopia desert, a stark contrast from the rich, ancient forest surrounds they were preparing to leave. Babes strapped to mothers’ bosoms and infants perched high on fathers’ shoulders, they began their arduous trek into the blistering desert lands. With only remote clusters of oases to replenish their quickly diminishing supplies, the journey would be one endured with many hardships.

By day the harsh sun burnt their fair skin, and by night the bitterly cold sandstorms stung and marked their flesh like a thousand beestings. The storms were so fierce that they obliterated even the brightest of the blue moons overhead.

The Atnangker tribal people came forward on the fifth day of their journey. However, by this time many of the older Bakhna people, weak with dehydration, had perished in the sand. Some had taken to stealing away in the night, so as not to become a burden.

The Atnangker people had black, wavy hair and dark skin, a stark contrast to the pale features of the Bakhna people. Their dark faces were decorated with the traditional dots and stripes of their tribe. They had lived on these desert lands since the beginning of their dreamtime. The brutal weather conditions, that had kept them safe from all predators, they feared not. The soul of each Atnangker man, woman, and child, the legend said, had been created, each one in turn, by a single grain of sand held in the palm of the Dreamtime God of Creation.

Had it not been for Diyari, the dark-skinned tribal princess of the Atnangker desert people, and their generous offerings of plump, glutinous sand grubs and rich, ripe, bittersweet berries for nourishment, the placid Bakhna people, now short on provisions and strength, would never have survived the remainder of the long treacherous journey.

Diyari was just 18 in dreamtime years. She was a striking sight, with her round, dark eyes and long, dark legs. She wore a tight-fitting garment fashioned from the hide of a camel. A long wave of dark hair framed her face, decorated with tiny red beads made from seeds. Ancient tribal markings were flawlessly imprinted on her dark, velvety skin. She was worshiped reverently by the Atnangker tribal people across the desert lands. She was the chosen one, and held all the wisdom and knowledge bestowed upon her by the Dreamtime Gods.

It was said that on the night she was born, the Dreamtime Gods had gazed down upon her in wonder from heaven as she suckled at her mother’s breast. The Gods, humbled by her beauty, gifted her with all the wisdom from the Dreamtime. Then, on the day that Diyari took her first step, the Dreamtime God of Fire instructed the sun to shine brighter so as to cast Diyari’s shadow out across the flat desert lands, turning them red beneath her feet. Her shadow would be a beacon for her people. At night, the Dreamtime God of Air exhaled and lifted the sands, forming red, mountainous dunes to protect her from harm while she slept. The thorny sand-dragon lizards that the Atnangker children had once played with in their hands had grown overnight on her seventh birthday, and now stood thirty hands high. Her Dragon Armies were plentiful, and hers to command at will.

At sunset, when the sun melted into the horizon, Diyari ordered her people to spirit the peaceful Bakhna underground into a catacomb of caves with brightly painted rock walls depicting the dreamtime legends of all Atnangker people since the beginning of time. The dark-skinned children with their large black eyes and flat noses giggled as they ran their fingers through the shimmering silver hair of the white Bakhna children, making the tiny bells jingle noisily. At night, safely entrenched underground, the Atnangker tribal women taught the children, black and white, to make jewelry from shiny seeds collected from the Bat’s Coral trees that were spotted scantily across the vast desert lands. When sleep drew near, the children huddled together and slept silently, curled up in blankets and camel hides on the floor around small clusters of fires to keep them warm. Only the crackling fire and the occasional tinkle of a bell when a child squirmed in sleep pierced the eerie silence of the underground fortress. Outside, the winds tore and howled throughout the night, shaping and shifting the mountainous red sand dunes until each trace, each footfall was swept completely away.

During the day the Bakhna people, draped now in heavy camel skins to protect them from the scorching sun, were whisked from one Atnangker tribe to another under the protection of Diyari and her cortège of personal guards. And each night was spent safely underground around crackling log fires, listening to dreamtime stories told by the elders of the tribe.

The last days of their journey, where the sand dunes began to fall away, although still long and tortuously slow, had been made easier by traveling by camel and the thorny sand dragons.

Overhead, the giant eagles flew in from the south. Their piercing squawk called out raucously and guided the Bakhna closer toward home. Their massive bodies dipped then rose gracefully on the shifting air currents. When at last they reached the sanctuary of the Crossing and were almost home, the Bakhna, tired and weatherbeaten, knelt, and in small voices they gave blessings to Diyari and her desert people for their kindness. The Bakhna people gifted the Princess and the dark-skinned children with tiny bells and ribbons from their hair. In return, the Atnangker people gave beaded bracelets and necklaces made from the shiny red seeds.

The Crossing was a sacred place, where it was said the Dreamtime Spirit Gods had stood and parted the lands. The Dreamtime God of Earth stretched out his long finger and drew a line in the sand to mark the place where the vast red desert lands ceased and green mountain ranges began. Then the Spirit God of Water, with just one of his tears, created a raging river in the deep line drawn by his brother’s finger. With just seven strands of their long hair, the Dreamtime Gods made a braid and constructed a bridge that stretched across the fathomless waters from one side to the other. So the dreamtime legend went.

The Bakhna people stood, adorned in their shiny new beads, and began the last of their journey home. In a long single file they crossed the long rope bridge that stretched high across the raging waters below. Then, one by one, they followed a winding path under the lush canopy of ancient rainforest trees, past bubbling streams where they knelt and drank. Some caught fish that they baked over small fires at night, wrapped in leaves from the banana tree. They bathed in crystal clear pools beneath waterfalls that fell from the heavens. On the fourteenth day, when the sun was perched at its highest, they finally reached home, the summit of the An-nasr Mountains.

Soon, the grassy paths became wider, and were lined with monolithic human figures carved in stone, statues of the ancient Bakhna people. Small stone housing structures spotted the hillsides. Further still, and higher in the mountains, the ancient Kingdom of the Bakhna people clung precariously to towering rocky peaks. The highest of the majestic towers were all but hidden away by a bank of massing clouds.

All at once they were greeted by a swarm of Bakhna village people who ran down the grassy path, calling in voices eager with delight. The brightly colored bells in their long silver hair rang out noisily. The massive eagles had brought the message, that some were coming home.

It was warm on the summit, the day the weary travelers arrived home. Summer had a little way to go. But the air was beginning to crisp at the end of each passing day, and the giant eagles had begun to fill their feathery winter coats in preparation for the turn of the season. In the days that would shortly follow, the green mountain peaks, swathed in a dense palette of earthen and rainforest tones, would be covered by a soft blanket of pure white snow.

* * *

Abaddon found Keyla beyond beautiful, just as Temulun had surmised. "Come to me," he demanded of the tiny silver-haired girl.

She did not move. Temulun gave her a gentle shove. "Keyla, the master beckons you, go," she said, urging the girl forward.

Keeping her face lowered, the girl stepped forward hesitantly.

Abaddon grasped her chin in his hand and forced her face up toward his. "Look at me," he demanded abruptly.

She raised her eyes and looked at him. He could feel her tremble beneath his grip. Staring into her watery blue eyes he studied her, reading her. Please don’t hurt me, please don’t hurt me, she chanted silently to herself. Abaddon smiled. Obviously a virgin, he thought to himself. ‘It will hurt a little, precious one, but I will be gentle,’ he said silently to her. Abaddon smiled then, and released his grip on her chin. The girl gasped in horror and her eyes opened wide. The bells in her silver hair whispered in tiny crystalline sounds as she jolted her head back and out of his reach.

Abaddon smirked and turned, returning his attention to Cerberus. Temulun was still busily removing the protective armor from Cerberus’ shoulders and untying the leather straps that bound and covered his muscular arms. The silver armor, worn by all Grigorian warlords, depicted Apep, the snake god of darkness and chaos.

"Why do you toy with the child?" Cerberus inquired idly. "Wouldn’t a woman more suit your needs, my brother? This girl, perhaps," he said, motioning toward Temulun as she continued to remove the heavy armor from his shoulders.

Abaddon raised his eyebrows. "This girl," he said, looking at Keyla once again, "is no younger than fourteen, far from a child, my brother. Do not be fooled by her shortness of stature and childlike features. It is an honor to lie with royalty. Who am I to deprive anyone of such an opportunity?" He chuckled, and turned on his heel to face Temulun once again. "Escort Lord Cerberus. He is to be bathed, fed, and prepared for his good wife, the gracious Lady Pandora."

Cerberus raised his hand. "Nonsense, do not bother with such things, my brother," he said as the last of his armor came away in Temulun’s practiced hands. "Prepare food, a live beast most certainly. And have a hot bath drawn and scented with the oils from rose petals. A drink from our finest would not be turned away." He wiped a hand across his lips as his mouth moistened with saliva. "Firstly, though, please take care of my armor," he said, indicating his belongings scattered on the floor. "The bathing, however, I will tend to myself. I am sure my good Lady will be only too pleased to honor me with her presence."

Abaddon stifled a cough with the back of his hand and said, "I am sure when the Lady hears of your early arrival she will fall over herself with eagerness to please you. She has been such a bore, fretting endlessly for her Lord's safe return."

Temulun glanced sheepishly from Abaddon to Cerberus, wondering if Cerberus had fallen for such a fanciful lie.

Cerberus turned toward her, and she quickly dropped her gaze. "This body aches for a hot bath, girl. Run the bath, and then fetch my food."

"As you wish, my Lord," Temulun said as she scooped Cerberus’s scattered belongings up from the floor. She quickly handed the lighter items to Keyla. "Let us go now," she whispered to the girl. Keyla followed Temulun swiftly down the long stone corridor, glad to be away from the prying eyes of Abaddon. When they were completely out of sight Temulun turned toward her. "You did very well, Keyla, Abaddon suspects nothing. You have him completely fooled. Just remember, though, when he summons you, and he will, to place the powdered mistletoe beneath your tongue and he will be unable to read you, the scent will leave his ability to read useless for half the hour. You must remember that, child, half the hour. No more. You will be able to coerce him during this time. You have been blessed with the gifts of the ancients, little one."

Keyla nodded agreeably. A small smiled lifted the corners of her delicate lips, but soon fell away. A solid timber doorway with brass reinforcements swung ajar to let them pass.

"Why thank you, Keyla, your gifts are plentiful," Temulun smiled.

"You are welcome," Keyla replied politely.

Temulun stopped beside a girl busily polishing a huge mirror edged with golden leaves in a stone and timber lined room. Heavily embossed furniture lined long timber dining tables. Jeweled candelabras hung from thick wooden beams overhead.

"Leave that for now, Saran. Lord Cerberus returns, and is in need of a hot bath before he welcomes his Lady. And use the rose petals…" The girl did not move. "Do it now, Saran. Hurry along, will you," Temulun said, raising her voice to express the urgency of her request. She rearranged the burden of the weighty armor in her arms.

"Yes Temulun," the girl answered quickly, then scurried away to prepare Lord Cerberus his bath. What an honor, she thought, giddy with excitement.

* * *

Saran would tell own her embellishment of the story later that evening around the family dining table. How the Lord had personally requested that she prepare his bath. How she had bathed the mighty Lord Cerberus, and oiled his naked flesh with her own two hands. How she had refused the Lord’s continual advances for her to join him in the warm sweet-smelling water. She had declined, of course, and had promptly reminded the Lord that his good Lady wife had fretted many days waiting for his return.

"The Lord," she said, "although disheartened by my refusal to join him, knew that I was correct. But that did not stop him from kissing me feverishly." She paused for effect, then, when all eyes were upon her she continued. "He begged that I should not stop kissing him, that my kiss was most gentle and the sweetest thing he had ever tasted." Saran touched her lips softly with her fingertips. Her two younger sisters hung off every word that Saran spoke, their eyes and mouths wide with wonderment. "Tell us more, Saran," they pleaded with their sister.

Her father scoffed. "Shut your traps," he said angrily to his two younger daughters. "Unless, of course, it is your desire to catch flies. And you," he turned to Saran. "Don’t be such a stupid girl. No one, other than these two numbskulls, believes such fanciful stories. Now sit down and eat your broth, your mother has toiled over it since full sun, and I will not see it go to waste."

Saran sat herself down, pulled a knob of bread from a loaf, and dunked it into her broth with her fingers. "It is true, just as I tell you-"

"I will hear no more of your lies, girl, now eat," her father said, annoyed at her persistence with the matter.

Saran squirmed uncomfortably in her seat and scowled. Why could her father not let her be with her fantasies, she thought bitterly to herself. She retrieved the soaked piece of crusty bread from her bowl of broth with her fingers and popped it, dripping, into her mouth. Her two sisters giggled noisily between themselves and squabbled over the last piece of bread. Saran glared at them, and stuck out her tongue.

"Papa," the younger girls whined, scowling at their sister.

"Less talking and more eating," he said, slurping a spoonful into his mouth, "and let an old man eat in peace. Mother," he beckoned to his wife, "please come sit, and eat with your family."

* * *

Temulun and Keyla continued down the long stony corridor. Faces from days past, with yellowish eyes, glared at them from giant tapestries and life-sized oil paintings. Keyla cringed as the eyes followed her every footfall on the polished stone floor.

They walked out onto a covered pathway toward a heavy timber door with thick iron brackets and hinges. It swung open easily without a touch.

A hot blast of seething heat burned their cheeks and stole their breath as they walked hesitantly inside. The walls of the dimly lighted room were almost completely covered from top to bottom with the glistening armor of Grigorian warriors past and present. Long timber benches lined the stone walls, with an assortment of metal tools, wooden bowls, squat round glass bottles filled with oils and animal fats. Leather and brass strapping and the tools of an armor-smith cluttered the thick wooden shelves. An olive-skinned boy with a long black braid coiling down his back pounded noisily on a sheath of steel over a blazing fire. Sweat ran unrestrained down his face and chest, staining the front of his worn leather apron. He stopped and looked up, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead with an oil-stained chamois. His youthful body smelt ripe with the scent of oils and sweat. Temulun breathed him in and held her breath.

"What brings you in here, Temulun," he began, smiling. "Keyla," he said, nodding toward the smaller girl. Then a glint from the steel she held caught his eye and he looked down in awe at the shimmering sword lying across Temulun’s outstretched arms. His mouth fell open but was empty of words. He recognized the sword instantly, and rushed forward to take it from her. He ran his fingers gently down the length of the shimmering, razor-sharp blade, making it sing in a high-pitched tone. The sound resonated eerily off the stone walls, as though summoning the lost souls that had fallen victim beneath its heavy blade.

"This blade was forged by the hands of the ancient Altairian Gods. The hands of the Gods, do you hear me?" he said, hugging the heavy weapon tightly to his chest. He closed his eyes and muttered a quick prayer in his native tongue, then quickly moved away to place the sword lovingly on the animal pelt covering his long timber bench, as a mother would a babe. "This is truly an honor," he murmured to himself as he began studying the intricate details of the lethal masterpiece that had been passed down from one Altairian Royal Guard to another over the centuries. "An honor," he repeated as he began busying himself with the cleaning of the gleaming blade. "Leave the other pieces on the bench over there," he jabbed his outstretched finger toward another bench without removing his eyes from the bloodstained sword. Then he went about his business, polishing and muttering in the ancient language of his people, the Khnum River People in the east lands.

"Well it does not rest in the hands of the Gods any longer, now does it, Bakari," Temulun said angrily.

The boy glared at her with a stern look on his face. "You should not be saying such things, Temulun. It is not safe."

Temulun sighed. "You are quite right."

"You should go now," Bakari said, dismissing them. "I am busy here; we will talk later tonight, under the Great Oak at the edge of the forest."

"If I have nothing better to do," Temulun replied curtly. "Come," she said to Keyla. "Let us take leave of this stupid boy with his shiny new toy." They walked from the room, glad to be free of the stifling heat from the blazing bowl of hot coals and flames in the windowless room. They welcomed the touch of cool air on their faces as they walked out across the cobbled courtyard toward the outdoor pantry to fetch Lord Cerberus his beast. Lush green pastures speckled with long swaying blooms surrounded the open-air pantry and perfumed the air. Lambs frolicked playfully. Ewes grazed lazily, ignorant yet blessed with the lack of intelligence to question.

Temulun filled her lungs with the beguiling scent of Mother Nature as they walked in silence, each completely immersed in her own thoughts.

The sound of hooves pounding noisily on cobbled stones rumbled closer from behind a high stone wall, dissolving their concentration. They drew closer to the end of the wall and peered out. A gust of breeze carried another, sharper, pungent scent, overshadowing all that was fresh and crisp. Booming voices, beastly snarls and muffled voices echoed through the stony courtyard.

Hidden behind the stone wall, Temulun and Keyla watched on in horror. From the south they came. A barrage of armored Grigorian guards: some on horseback, some on foot with giant black spectre hounds, almost the size of a horse, hunched and hovering by their sides. A slow-moving throng of prisoners as far as the eye could see moved clumsily along the cobbled path. They were pushed and shoved forward toward covered enclosures where they would later be sorted. Some would become breeders to replenish the dwindling food stocks. Others would become bleeders who would provide a continuous supply of fresh blood. These were the unfortunates: the souls who had fought bravely alongside the Royal Bulguardian Army during the last days of war, and had been captured fleeing the stricken city.

"Move, hurry along," a massive guard boomed as he shoved a young woman with long, matted fair hair with the front of his horse. She fell forward. A man reached out quickly for her arm. "Rose," he gasped, but it was too late. She fell heavily to the ground on her hands and knees. "Abel," she cried out, and reached up frantically for him. Another Grigorian guard on foot smashed his heavy shield into the side of Abel’s face, forcing him backward into the shuffling throng of bodies. The Grigorian guard shouted again. "Move it, I’ve got better things to do with my time than herd you lot all day." A man stripped of his armor and clothed in a torn and bloodied Bulguardian tunic clutched Rose’s arm and pulled her to her feet before he, too, was dragged forward by the throng of prisoners.

Rose scanned the mass of bodies in a frantic effort to find her husband as they jostled her along. "Abel, Abel," she cried out hysterically but no reply came. Only the booming voices of the Grigorian guards filled her ears.

"Move, move, move," the guards shouted in a hoarse chorus as hounds barked, snarled and nipped feverishly at the prisoners' bloodied ankles. Another Bulguardian soldier raised his arm at a Grigorian guard, but was quickly slammed to the ground by a pair of massive paws. The Beast snarled viciously, opened its jaws wide, and with one quick snap, tore the man’s throat out with a row of barbed fangs.

Temulun eyes stung with tears, but she quickly forced them back as she looked on in horror as prisoners were pushed, shoved, and beaten. Some had fallen and were being trampled under hoof. She heard a soft whimpering beside her. She turned to see Keyla’s face awash with tears. "Oh, dear child," Temulun said, fighting back her own tears. She put her arm protectively around Keyla’s shoulders and pulled the child toward her. "Dry your tears quickly; it is not wise to be seen showing sympathy toward these prisoners. There are too many guards, too many prying eyes." She quickly ushered Keyla away from the savage onslaught before them, away from the Grigorian monsters with their massive spectre hounds. Two beasts fought ferociously over the body of the dead Bulguardian. A third came forth, pulling and chewing until little was left.

Temulun pushed a heavy door open toward the furthest end of the high stone wall. It opened into a dark musty room. By the glimmer of sunlight stealing its way inside, they could just make out a disorderly pile of discarded furniture, tapestries, and oil paintings in golden frames. Keyla closed her eyes and held her hand out. Ever so slowly, a small, glowing ball formed, rose above the palm of her hand and spun. It began to spin faster and faster, until eventually it ignited into a ball of fire that hung suspended above their heads. She blew at it softly until six in all illuminated the room. The bright balls of fire revealed three massive gold chairs among the pile at the rear of the room.

Temulun gasped. "The three missing thrones from the throne room," she said, dragging a long roll of carpet entwined in spider webs off the thrones and onto the floor. It hit the ground with a heavy thud, sending a deluge of dust motes into the air. She ran her fingers down the gold and velvet armrests. "I have only ever heard stories. They truly are beautiful, aren’t they, even in this state? Just think... the Royal Guardians have sat upon these thrones." She pulled matted cobwebs from her fingers. "There used to be twelve of these, you know. But every time a Guardian has been killed since the beginning of time, they burn the throne with the Guardian seated upon it, so the fire can take the body back to the Gods. Back to the time before time." Temulun paused for a moment. "One of these thrones shouldn’t be here. A Royal Guard was killed on the night of the equinox. It is said that his body was thrown out in the streets to burn." She shook her head mournfully. "Cerberus now sits upon the fourth throne in the Great Hall."

Keyla said nothing. She walked over to the stone wall, easing herself down its rough surface and onto the cold, dusty floor. She hugged her knees tight up against her chest.

Temulun walked toward her. "What is it, child?" she asked, sitting down beside her. "My story, it saddens you?"

"I saw everything they saw, everything they felt," she said, pushing her face into her hands. "How could they do that, treat those prisoners like worthless animals?"

"To the Grigorians, those prisoners are animals. Nothing more than a meal to fill their bellies... That is their way. For some, that is all they desire, all they have ever known. It is an empowering delicacy, the forbidden fruit." Temulun held Keyla’s hand. "Now tell me, child, what exactly did you see?"

"I saw it all. In their eyes, on their faces. The night of the fall… So much death, so many souls lost." She took a long breath, labored with heart-wrenching sobs, and continued. "They fought gallantly, but the Grigorian monsters, with all their cunning, outnumbered the innocent, and the Bulguardian Army. Soon the Royal Palace fell, and it fell right into the hands of Lord Cerberus and his men. Within hours the Imperial City was engulfed by a barrage of hungry flames. There was nothing left for the Bulguardian Army to do but to save as many as they could and flee the city and head south."

"And your family?" Temulun asked softly. "What became of them?"

Keyla shook her head. "I do not know," was all she said.

"What happened then, what else did you see?"

Keyla remained silent for a moment, gathering her thoughts. Recollecting what she had seen in the desperate eyes of the prisoners as they were beaten and herded into holding pens, like cattle.

"The Pinnacles," she said. "The four Wafes went first. Four host souls volunteered. Two females and two males. They left their bodies, and without the souls, the bodies just lay down and died right there on the floor. Just four shimmering souls floating in the air like four rainbow-colored bubbles." She shook her head. "I have never seen anything so beautiful. Not even the crystal dome of the sanctuary was as beautiful." She looked up at Temulun, her eyes wide and damp. "Without the body, the soul is so, so..." Keyla searched for a word, but found none to express the enormity of the beauty for which she held in her mind. Her eyes pooled with fresh tears and spilled over. With the tears of a thousand souls streaming down her face, she continued. "Water and Air fell first, and were born into human females. Fire and Earth went into human boys."

Temulun bowed her head and whispered. "I overheard Abaddon speaking with his sister, Theria, just yesterday," she began. "On earth, nine hundred years have passed."

Keyla looked up at her. "That is a very long time to be away from home."

"Oh my Gods," Temulun said, scrambling quickly to her feet and pulling Keyla up with her. "The time, we must hurry. We have yet to fetch Lord Cerberus his beast. Abaddon will be furious if we keep the Lord waiting. We will talk more of this tonight at the Oak. But first," she said, pulling a small leather pouch from her pocket. "Put this powdered mistletoe under your tongue. It would be too dangerous to carry these thoughts in your head for fear of others overhearing." Temulun pushed the leather pouch into Keyla’s hand. The girl looked at her and frowned.

"Not to worry, Keyla, I have a little left. And tonight, we will go ask the Forest People for more."

Keyla took the leather pouch, extracted a pinch of the powdered herb, and placed it under her tongue. She wrinkled her nose at the pungent taste. "Are the Forest People expecting me?" she asked.

"Oh yes," Temulun replied, "they are very eager to meet you. Witness the abilities you still possess from your ancestors."

"Then I hope I do not fail them," Keyla replied.

* * *

"Brother?" Abaddon said, pacing the floor, raising his arms in question.

Cerberus shook his head wearily. "Abaddon, I have fought a war alongside my men for countless days now, I am more than capable of bathing myself. Although I do understand your hesitation in believing so, considering my present state. I smell of piss and the excrement of a thousand horses, to say the least." He placed his hand heavily on Abaddon’s shoulder to still his pacing. "But I thank you, my brother, you have served me well, taking care of the Realm and my good lady wife during my long absence. I only hope she has not burdened you too much with her girlish ways." He spoke affectionately of his wife as he pictured Pandora in his mind. She would be swathed in ancient silks, velvets, perfumes, and gems, eagerly awaiting his return, he imagined. He only hoped she had not been made too forlorn by his departure from the Realm.

Abaddon raised his eyes and restrained the urge to divulge. Even though it would have pleased him no end to inform his brother that his precious wife was, in fact, no more than a common street whore. That Cerberus had been fooled by the mask of beauty that Pandora wore effortlessly. That and her intoxicating spellbinding scent that tempted and teased. The mighty Lord Cerberus deceived by a woman, and a human woman at that. How his father, Lord Grig, had failed to see such an obvious weakness in Cerberus was beyond Abaddon’s comprehension. But better Cerberus than a bastard son of his father's, he conceded. He raised his hands and clapped them sharply together, twice this time, summoning a doorman. The heavyset guard appeared immediately, his long braided whiskers dangling beneath his chin.

"My Lord," he said, bowing his head respectfully to Cerberus. Then to Abaddon he said, "Master, how may I serve?"

"You will locate the Lady Pandora and inform her that her husband Lord Cerberus demands her attendance in his chambers." Then he looked directly into the man's almond eyes, and without the need for spoken word he said, ‘You will not pay heed to whom the Lady Pandora lies beneath, but merely inform her that her lord husband is here. Do you understand what I am asking of you?’

The man lowered his eyes and bowed. "Yes master," and then to Cerberus, with a deeper bow he said, "my Lord," and was gone.

"You are a fine brother, Abaddon, our father would be proud. It is a shame that Father is with us no longer. His talents as a warrior have been missed on the battlefield. Father was certainly the master of war when it came to fighting the great sand dragons to the south. We have lost many fine men to the dragons crossing the red sands to the mountains. And then of course, there were the eagles."

"Yes, Father was a great warrior, he is sadly missed," Abaddon muttered.

Cerberus frowned and looked at his brother, noting his discomfort with the conversation about their father, Lord Grig. "But enough of this talk; walk with me. Tell me everything. I fear I have missed much since my hasty departure south to fight this war," Cerberus said, wrapping his arm around his younger sibling’s shoulders. They climbed the sweeping staircase and started down the long corridor toward Cerberus’s private chambers. "I have interrupted your plans, I suspect, with my unexpected return. You were preparing to leave the Realm, were you not, when I entered?"

"For a brief time, yes," Abaddon replied. "Food stocks have become quite low, as you know. And I do have my preferences. Unlike you, the four-legged beasts do not satisfy my taste."

"Then you will be pleased to know that my men have secured a thousand head to replenish our stock. Half at least are young females, and will make excellent breeders."

Abaddon nodded appraisingly. "In the meantime, a quick trip will not harm."

"Where will you go, my brother?" Cerberus asked with interest.

"Australia," he said without hesitation. "Theria appears to be enjoying the people there very much."

"Theria," Cerberus said fondly. "How is the little one? The last time I spoke with our sister she was journeying to a nunnery in Germany. She believed she was close to sourcing the whereabouts of a Pinnacle."

"Not so little anymore, my brother, she has allowed herself to age."

Cerberus laughed. "Surely you jest. In a world full of humans she abstains? The girl will never cease to amaze me." He shook his head. "As long as she is well, what more could a brother want for a sister?" He stopped and took Abaddon by the shoulders. "You, my little brother, are in need of clean garments before your departure," Cerberus chuckled as he indicated the blood splatters drying on Abaddon’s white shirt. "As am I," he continued, running a hand down his battle-stained chest and bloodied leather thighs.

"Yes, you are correct, of course." Abaddon replied. "No need to attract unnecessary attention on my arrival," he smirked. He felt an unexpected delight at the thought of his impending departure. Then Abaddon did something that made Cerberus flinch for the slightest of moments. Abaddon leaned in and embraced him. "I shall see you on my return," he said, letting go of Cerberus, whose face still exposed his utter astonishment at his brother’s display of affection. Never in all his years had Abaddon exhibited such feelings toward him.

"Have a safe journey, my brother," Cerberus said eventually. "And please, pass on my regards to our sister; I am sorry that I have missed her. I would have enjoyed listening to her many stories."

"You can be sure that I will forward your regards to Theria." He gave Cerberus a mocking bow then grinned. "My Lord, I shall bid you farewell, for now." And with that Abaddon turned and was gone, leaving Cerberus standing alone in his private chamber, pondering Abaddon’s uncharacteristic behavior. He gave up, shaking his head. Some things about his brother, Cerberus concluded, would forever remain a mystery to him. He removed his boots and his leather trousers, then stepped into the steaming pool of hot, scented water with a contented sigh, and waited for his wife.

* * *

Lord Cerberus was, in every way imaginable, adored by his people. Had Cerberus not been born to a time when anarchy was at epidemic levels throughout the realm, he would have been a worthy leader of good rather than evil. Even his yellowish eyes, circled with the bluest blue, and his fair hair could not withstand the evil that had been bred into him. That he could be wrong, that his inherited bloodline was evil rather than good, had never occurred to him. What did occur to him, however, what had been instilled in him from the moment he was pulled from his mother’s swollen belly, from the second he drew his very first breath, was that he would be the future leader of the Grigorian people. His people needed him. And for his people he would fight to the death to provide. This was his destiny, his Grigorian birthright. He was sworn by blood to defend his people, and would do exactly what was expected of him as the first-born son of a Grigorian Lord.

CHAPTER 3 – The Witches’ Grimoire

His strong hands gripped Pandora's throat as his mouth came down hard on her eager one. His twisted rope of a beard rested between her breasts. He released one of his hands from her throat and entangled his fingers in her long, fair hair, freed now from its jeweled restraints. Her golden curls cascaded down her back, concealing her semi- nakedness. Her heavily embossed emerald-green gown, pulled down to her waist, exposed her exquisite flesh, pale and silky against his callused, leathery hands. She moaned, not sure if it was his hands pulling her head back forcibly by her hair or the roughness of his hand as it moved impatiently down her naked back, that had her breathlessly gasping in pleasure. She turned her face away from his and forced his head down toward her throat, then further, to her breasts. She felt his muscles flex as his arm tightened around her and he lifted her onto the high bed. A gentle breeze swam in the sheer ivory curtains hanging loosely from the ornate four-poster bed. A sigh escaped Pandora’s lips as his moved down her body. His hands found her dress and began to push it further down her thighs.

There was a heavy knock on the solid timber doors, just moments before they crashed open. "My lady," the messenger said with a bowed head, "Please, I beg you, forgive my intrusion, but I have urgent news. The master, Abaddon, has instructed me to find you and inform you immediately that Lord Cerberus has returned and requests your attendance in his chambers. I beg you, please prepare yourself."

"Get off me," Pandora said as she reluctantly pushed the naked man away.

"Yes, my Lady," he said, lifting his weight from her and bowing his head. "As you desire."

She pulled her gown up slowly to cover her breasts. "Stay put," she ordered, tossing him his garments. "And you," she said angrily to the messenger. "Would an extra five minutes’ wait really have killed you?"

"Apologies, my lady, it is not myself that I am concerned about, but you," the messenger said, bowing again. "Should the Lord find you-"

"Yes, do not go on. Narantu!" Pandora called silencing the man. "Come quickly, child, help me dress..."

A young Mongol girl entered the bedchamber from an adjoining door leading to private servants' quarters. "Yes, my lady," Narantu said as she began to busy herself with the pearl buttons running down the back of Pandora’s velvet bodice. "Do you require your hair up or down, my lady?" Narantu asked picking up jewel-encrusted clasps and pins from the floor.

"No time," Pandora said, pinning her hair back with a gold-leaf clasp. "You can go now, Narantu. You are no longer needed."

"Lilura, come," Pandora called, summoning another to her chamber.

Lilura entered the chamber in an almost ghost-like trance, her face and body obscured by a long, mustard-colored robe.

The two doormen stared at Lilura, as if seeing her for the first time, and backed away from her in terror. The second doorman opened his mouth hesitantly and spoke in a raspy voice tainted with fear. "My Lady, this woman is a witch," he said, "she cannot be trusted. The Master had her thrown in the pit for sorcery. Even her own people repel her from their villages. I implore you, my lady, send her back to the pit before it is too late. No good can come of this…"

Pandora huffed. "Unlike most of you fools around here, I am not frightened, or bound by your brainless superstitions." She turned and faced the woman. "Remove your hood, Lilura," she said, in a commanding tone.

Lilura did not move, did not obey.

"Lilura, you will do as I command, or you will find yourself back down in that filthy pit with the rats. Do I make myself clear? I freed you. I saved your pathetic life, have you forgotten that? I own you now; you are mine, and you will do as I say." Pandora walked over to an ornate writing desk and pulled an old bark and leather-bound book from the top drawer. On the front in gold was an ancient text. Translated into English, the text read, 'Hours'. Inside, pages of ancient Celtic texts, rituals, spells, pictures of symbols and drawings of herbs, berries, roots, and trees filled the worn ivory pages.

Pandora opened the book to a bookmarked page. "According to the last inscription written here in this book-"

"Grimoire," Lilura said, correcting her.

Pandora continued. "Yes, well, book, Grimoire, whatever. It really is all the same to me. Anyway, this Grimoire states that if a mortal saves a witch from certain death, then that said witch becomes the property of that mortal until the debt is repaid. There is more, of course, but that is the essence of it. And well, as I'm the only one that comes close to being mortal around here," she said, closing the Grimoire, "well, that makes you mine." Pandora walked over to Lilura and peered under the hood of Lilura’s robe. "You really ought to do something about that complexion of yours; the pit really hasn’t done you any favors. You’re a witch for God's sake, cast a spell or something and pretty yourself up a little. I prefer to look at pretty things. Now, if we’re on the same page, we will do it my way. Or is it back to the pit with you?"

"How is it that the Grimoire finds itself in your possession? Lilura asked.

Pandora was growing weary of Lilura's persistent talking. "Let us just say that I have my people," Pandora said, placing the Grimoire back in the drawer and locking it with a small key attached to a chain on her wrist. "So," Pandora said, repeating herself. "Are we going to do it my way?"

"Yes my lady, we will do it your way," Lilura murmured, pulling the hood back from her head to expose her face.

The two men gasped in horror and looked away. Her face and hands, the color of gray ash, were covered in ancient orange and black inked symbols. Her eyes, a burnt orange color, reflected death.

"And that is the same," Pandora paused, searching for the correct word, "potion, that you used last time?"

In her tattooed hands, Lilura held a gold-colored pottery bowl filled with a sweet syrupy liquid made from forest herbs, roots, and the congealed blood of ravens. "Yes my lady, the exact same one."

"Excellent," Pandora said, turning toward the two men. "Come," she ordered the taller, stronger doorman. "Drink."

He began to move toward her hesitantly then stopped. "Please, my lady," he began.

"Here, now," Pandora said, raising her voice. "Or you will not only have the witch to contend with, but my husband, Lord Cerberus. How do you think he would react if I told him you forced your way into my chamber and tore the clothes from my back with the intention of doing God only knows what with me?"

"My Lady, I would never-"

Pandora glared at him, tousled her hair with her fingers, and tore a satin bow from the front of her gown. "Do you see where this is going?" she asked.

The man walked forward. "Yes, my lady."

"Thank you," she murmured stroking his broad chest. "We will do this again sometime, but for now be a good boy and drink up," she said, taking the bowl from Lilura’s hands and tilting it to his lips to drink. He choked the liquid down, then wiped his lips. She beckoned the second man who stepped forward immediately, heeding Pandora’s threat. He did not wish the wrath of witch nor Lord, although he could not be sure which he feared the most. Without flinching, he drank the remainder of the liquid from the bowl.

"Do whatever it is you do, Lilura, with all your little witchy magic spells," Pandora said, motioning the woman forward.

Lilura reached up, put her hands on the men’s foreheads and began chanting in a tongue Pandora did not understand, nor did she care to understand. As long as Lilura and her magic did what she wanted it to do, take the memories from these men’s minds, Pandora did not see any good reason to bother herself with the how.

"Per corvis sanguinem, scienti invoco te. Excidunt temporis hujus memoriae tuae. Oboeditote vocem meam. Sicut volo, ita semper fiat. Per corvis sanguinem, scienti invoco te. Excidunt temporis hujus memoriae tuae. Oboeditote vocem meam. Sicut volo, ita semper fiat. Per corvis sanguinem, scienti invoco te. Excidunt temporis hujus memoriae tuae. Oboeditote vocem meam. Sicut volo, ita semper fiat," she chanted in a toneless voice that sent chills down Pandora's spine. A cold breeze picked up and rattled the chandelier hanging above her head. The torches flickered and the fireplace roared with hungry flames. A raven, standing three hands high, landed noisily on the stone windowsill and flapped its wings furiously. A dry, grating kraa, kraa, resonated from its chest as it began to beat its head on the side on the windowsill until blood ran feely from its beak. Pandora picked up a vase of flowers and prepared to throw it at the bird.

"Do not!" Lilura shouted. "The raven is vital to the casting of this spell." Pandora rolled her eyes and set the vase back down on the desk. The bird watched Pandora for a moment as though memorizing her, then swiftly turned its back and flew noiselessly away. The raven landed outside Pandora's high window on a leafless tree, covered menacingly with hundreds of ravens hunched ready for flight. Kraa, Kraa, Kraa…

The men began to shudder uncontrollably under Lilura’s palms for a moment. Then their eyes rolled back into moist sockets. She snatched her hands away, and the men were suddenly still, their unblinking eyes blank, all thoughts absent.

"They are yours to command, my lady," Lilura said, pulling the hood back over her head and taking the bowl from Pandora’s hands.

"Thank you Lilura, you may go now," Pandora said, dismissing her.

"As you wish," Lilura said, lowering her head and walking from Pandora’s chamber.

"Neither of you have any memory of what has transpired here just now. Do you understand?" she asked.

"Yes my Lady," the men answered in toneless unison.

"Good, now go, go tend to Abaddon, and my Lord husband, or whatever it is you people do." The men nodded and began to leave.

"Wait,” Pandora said, and they halted. She walked toward the taller, stronger man and ran her hand down his bulging arm. She took his callused hand in hers and ran it down her cheek, across her chest, cupping her breast. "Kiss me," she demanded. He leaned down and kissed her hard on the mouth. Then she pushed her lips up against his ear. "You will remember that," she whispered. "Only you will never speak of it to another breathing soul. Unless, of course, it is your wish to die on that particular day." Pandora turned and sauntered away to study herself in the mirror. She smiled conceitedly at her own reflection. "Perfect," she said, praising herself. Cerberus could wait for a little longer, she decided, as she played with a strand of her hair. After all, he had left her without hesitation to go off and fight in his silly war, had he not? "Close the doors behind you," she called over her shoulder to the two men, without shifting her eyes from her own reflection.

"Narantu," Pandora called for the girl again.

Narantu scurried into the room. "Yes, my lady," she answered, more than eager to please.

"I think I will have my hair up for this evening, after all."

CHAPTER 4 – Earth To Earth

Bakari squatted on the damp grass in the ancient forest and made a small clearing with his hands. He gathered twigs and sticks and began to prepare a small fire. A rustle of leaves made him stop for a moment. He squinted, and scanned the dark forest around him. A bluish mist glowed ghostlike and rose slowly from the ground, distorting his vision. Dark shadows darted between massive tree trunks. The forest owned its own noises and creatures at night. Somewhere deeper in the forest, a heavy throb, throb, throb sounded in the darkness. An owl hooted four times, then the throbbing began again as the owl took flight. The wings of a giant owl, Bakari could tell. He sucked in a breath. The owl, the foreseer of the underworld, and the messenger of evil. He was not ignorant of the ancient legends of the forest and its people. Even the spectre hounds that foraged on the edge of the forest at night in a bid to search out any meaty morsels were cautious when it came to the ancient forest. They knew that danger lurked in the long shadows cast by the soaring trees and their inhabitants. Bakari had been into the forest many times, but never alone, and now he wished he had waited by the stone gateway with its bright burning torches. There wasn’t a wall to speak of, just the heavy wrought-iron gates that creaked a little when he eased his way through. He could quite as easily have entered at any place along the dense tree line, but he knew better than to do that. He rubbed his arms briskly and considered going back to wait for Temulun and Keyla by the gate.

Then he heard something else creeping in the darkness. He began rubbing the palms of his hands faster and faster together until a small spark ignited between his palms. He offered the spark down toward the small pile of twigs until a wisp of smoke began to twist in the air. He leaned down further and gently blew on the smoldering twigs until a stronger, brighter flame began to rise. The night had turned suddenly cold, and he had not come prepared. Just his trousers, sandals, and an open leather vest that he now buttoned up quickly in an effort to ward off the icy chill. He reached for the mound of larger sticks and gently laid them across the orange flame. Another noise, much closer now, held his attention.

Something slithered across his foot, and he jumped. A haunting giggle echoed through the forest.

"Who goes there?" He asked quietly. "Is that you, Temulun, Keyla? Stop playing games."

Then a loud thud as a large boulder fell from the dark sky and landed just three hands away from him. He jumped back quickly, pressing his back into the trunk of a Blackthorn tree and slicing his arm open on a protruding thorn. It wasn’t a boulder, he saw, but the bloodied severed head of a spectre hound. The beast’s black eyes were open wide and staring up at him in urgent warning, as if to say, you’re next, fool.

"Praise the Gods," he muttered. He picked up a long stick and poked at the head of the beast. The eyelids flickered with a spasm, then black pupils rolled back in their sockets until white. Suddenly there was the familiar throbbing in the air, and the brush of feathers on his arm as a giant white owl swooped down from the treetops. Razor-sharp talons reached out in front and collected the huge hound’s head in one swoop. Then the owl banked left and flew effortlessly off into the mist hanging high in the treetops.

"I know you’re there, Thorn. No one else cuts the head from a spectre hound like a blade cutting through lard like you do." He looked up just as a slender figure descended from a high branch, like a spider gliding down an invisible thread, a long, bloodied blade clenched ready in his hand. He landed almost silently on the forest floor. A light scatter of leaves fluttered around his feet in half-hearted protest. He holstered his weapon in a leather sheath that hung across his back with a second blade.

"That is one beast that won’t be going home to sleep by his master's hearth this fine evening." He took Bakari’s hand and shook it firmly in greeting. His brown hair was disheveled and rested on strong shoulders. His ears, with closer inspection, were ever so slightly pointed on the top, an almost extinct trait of his Ancient Forest ancestors.

"Thorn," Bakari said, letting go of his hand to return his inquisitive gaze to the treetops, and what lay secreted there.

Another figure stepped gracefully from the shadows.

When her face became visible in the firelight, Bakari bowed. "Your highness, such an honor to see you again," he said, giving her a respectful tilt of his head. She wore the traditional earthy tones of the Forest People. Her hair was long, past her waist, and wavy, like an ocean of golden waves. A braid intertwined with twigs, leaves, mistletoe, and flowers of the forest crowned her head. A crystal acorn on a golden chain hung between her breasts. A vine of gold and bronze leaves entwined her arms.

"Bakari," she said, walking toward him gracefully, noiselessly, "please, call me Willow." Her hazel eyes shone like precious gems as they sparkled in the firelight. "You are foolish, you know, to walk into the forest alone at night. Do the legends about our forests not frighten you?"

"The giant owls cause me some fear," he blurted nervously, feeling a little embarrassed at admitting such a thing to a woman.

She smiled and took the stick from his hand, her hand pale compared to his darker skin. "Yes, the owls. That beast could quite easily have been you, you know. Do you fancy losing your head, Bakari, to Thorn and his owls?" Willow poked him in the chest playfully with the stick. Her voice was soft, and as gentle as a breeze as it carried her Celtic accent to his ear. The branches above her stirred; leaves floated gently to the ground. There were others up there out of sight, he knew. Their long bows, unseen, would be pulled taut, with arrows aimed and ready to fly. He would be dead in a heartbeat, before his body had time to hit the earthy carpet of leaves beneath his feet. The Forest People had grown defensive, and with good reason since the night the Grigorians had ripped through their forest, all but destroying the village with flame, during their pursuit of the fleeing Bulguardian Army and the city’s people.

The Forest People had sat in council on the night of the equinox, with the three remaining Guardians. The Guardians had requested safe passage through the forest to the desert lands beyond, in an effort to reach the sanctity of the high mountains in the south.

Willow, having listened to their plight, had agreed immediately, and offered them safe passage through her forest, believing that the Grigorians would not break the laws of the ancient Celtic treaty, a treaty that had stood fast for thousands of years, stating that no being that feasted from the flesh of another soul could pass through the sacred Forest Of Doors, for fear that their evil would pass through the portals to the outer worlds.

Willow had been wrong, and their magic had failed them. They had all been wrong. Instead of the Grigorians traveling east to pursue a path around the forest, as they had previously done centuries past, they entered the forest. Lord Cerberus, with his Grigorian warlords, had ignored the Treaty, and plundered his way straight through the forest, all but destroying all in his path. The spirits of her dead still swam fretfully in the blue mists from dusk until dawn. The shapely moulds of their discarded bodies, covered now with moss and grasses, still littered the ground where they had fallen. It was the way of her people to allow the bodies of the dead slowly to decay back into the forest floor to rejoin the ancient earth spirits from which they came.

Bakari had cringed the first time he had seen the mossy mounds. It had been Temulun’s quick reflexes that had stopped him from mistaking the mossy mounds for rocks that he was preparing to sit on. Now he knew better, and understood the Forest People and their ways. Born from earth, return to earth. However, the sight of the mounds still made him shudder, and sent a silent chill down his spine when he came across them.

"I am afraid I have let my people down," Willow said with palpable sadness. "We have become too complacent, and our magic has become weak. The Grigorians ripped through our forest without a second thought. Only their hounds turned back. And now, I fear," she thought about the spectre hound that the owls fed on somewhere in the treetops as she spoke, "even the hounds appear to be impervious to our magic. There have been three others to pass in the last six moons, and I fear there will be manymore in the days that follow. Many of our people reside high in the treetops now, for safety. And although happy enough, they yearn to rebuild their village, tend their fields and their herds. Return to their old way of life, with the sacred earth beneath their feet."

"Your mistletoe magic still works to block the Grigorians’ ability to hear one’s thoughts," Bakari said, in a bid to reassure her. "And Keyla assures me that she can restore your magic. She has the gift of the Ancients. I have seen it. Temulun has seen it, too."

Thorn shook his head. "She is but one child, and time is against us, against us all. The Grigorians will stop at nothing; they will continue to forge through our lands while they have the upper hand."

Bakari nodded in understanding. Thorn was correct. None of them was safe.

"Give Keyla a chance, let her show you her abilities, what do we have to lose that we have not already lost?"

"We will listen to the girl, see what-" Willow fell silent and tilted her head.

Thorn rushed to her side, drawing his sword. The blade made a sharp hissing sound as it glided effortlessly from its leather scabbard. They listened to branches, the rustling of leaves and twigs snapping under foot. Three figures fell silently from the branches overhead, their weapons drawn. Several more remained concealed in the treetops, but were ready for battle. The throb, throb, throb of the giant owls, although masked by the heavy canopy of foliage, grew louder.

Willow held up her hand.

Bows remained poised as two of the figures recoiled back up their invisible threads to a fortress camouflaged by leaves. Only one remained, a girl, with bow holstered across her back and sword ready in hand. She was clothed in animal hides and fur; her fair hair was fixed in place by a leather braid crowning her forehead.

"Holly?" Willow asked as a worried frown creased her brow.

The girl shook her head, "It is nothing, Mother." She holstered her sword and walked toward Willow. "It is only our guests, they have arrived," she said, looking toward a dark winding path in the forest.

"I apologize, your highness, for our lateness," Temulun said, as she and Keyla stepped into the clearing.

CHAPTER 5 – Where Was God?

Tanami Desert, NT, Australia

Year: 2004

Wade sat hunched on the end of a crumpled bed in a small airless room. He listened to the message on his mobile phone over and over again until the batteries, inevitably, went flat. A bedside lamp cast a dim sphere of light in the otherwise darkened room. The hum of the air-conditioning droned overhead, like a blowfly circling his head, looking, but not finding a suitable place to land. He sniffed, wiped a tear off his cheek with the back of his hand, and stared at a color photograph in his hand.

A woman with shoulder-length fair hair, and a face that made you want to smile just looking at it, beamed out from the photograph. Beside her stood two girls, both eight, twins, tiny replicas of their mother, dressed in matching jeans and pink t-shirts. He closed his eyes and ran his fingertips softly across the glossy paper. But it wasn’t the paper he felt beneath his fingertips but soft skin, lips, the tiny dimples that followed a smile. He could even imagine breathing in the smell of their hair, ripe with the scent of strawberry shampoo.

"I’m so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry," he said softly to each of the faces that he held firm in his memory. He opened his eyes and let a fresh stream of tears run down his cheeks. He placed the photograph down on the bed beside him, and then he turned away, as if in shame, and picked up a pistol from the top drawer of his bedside table. He grabbed a bottle of bourbon and swallowed down the last of its contents before discarding the bottle on the floor. He turned the weapon over in his hands, acutely aware of the weight of the cold steel against his palms. The pistol was empty, except for one perfect bullet. That was all that was needed to complete his final task. He lifted the pistol and pressed the cold steel barrel hard against his right temple. His eyes were wide open; he was not afraid to die. Death would be a welcomed blessing.

"You don’t want to do that. Lower the weapon, lower it now," said a voice beside him, inside him; he wasn’t sure. He couldn’t hear the droning of the air-conditioning anymore, just the voice. The voice was all around him, in him.

"Put the gun down; put the gun down, put the gun down."

Wade lowered the weapon. "Where the hell are you?" he asked, scanning the confines of his darkened room. "What do you want?"

A figure stepped out of the shadows and stood beside him.

"Who are you? How the hell did you get in here? I locked the door..." Wade said, looking up into the man’s face then over his shoulder. The door was still locked.

"I don’t know how you got in here, but you can turn around and get the hell back out." Then another thought crossed his mind. He realized that he recognized the man’s face. "They told me you were in an accident. I thought you were dead."

"I need your help," the man said.

"Well, you’re asking the wrong guy. I can’t help you. I can’t help anyone. Just get the hell out… go and find someone else, for God's sake."

"There isn’t anyone else; you’re the only one here that can help me now."

Wade rubbed his eyes with the ball of his palms. "For Christ’s sake, go and ask someone else…I can’t help you."

"I’m asking you," the man insisted.

"And I told you, I can’t help you," Wade replied, a ripple of anger spurring his words.

The man reached down and picked up the photograph lying on the bed beside Wade. "Your wife and children?" he asked.

Wade snatched the picture from the man’s hands, looked at it and smiled, "yeah." A new wave of sadness tore through him, tears blurring his vision. The pain in his heart was excruciating. He blinked tears away and exhaled long and slow. "You don't understand…" Wade buried his head in his hands and let his tears come.

"You will see them again, you know," the man said softly.

Wade, with his face wet with tears, looked up and smirked. "Yeah, right. Are you a messenger from God? Well you ask your God where the hell was he when my family was dying. You ask him that. Then you can get back to me. But you better make it quick, because I don’t intend to be here for much longer."

The man said nothing.

Wade continued. "So, I’ll see them again in heaven, waiting for me by the 'white pearly gates' with smiles on their faces. Is that what you are telling me? Or are you more of a ‘bright shining light’ kind of guy?" Wade spat sarcastically. He looked at the empty bourbon bottle on the floor and wished he had another. He wiped his hand across his cheeks, the prickles of his unshaven face rough against his hands.

"I’m the kind of guy that is asking you for your help. I’m the kind of guy whose little girl is about to be told that her father is dead. Whose wife is not going to cope with finding out that her husband has just died. I’m asking you to help them. Will you do that, will you help them? Or do you want to sit on that bed feeling sorry for yourself, and splatter your brains out all over the wall? Tell me, who is that going to help?"

Wade lowered his head and stared silently at the picture in his hands.

"Do you think this is what your wife would have wanted you to do? Blow your brains out?"

Wade shook his head. "Without them I have nothing. I am nothing! They were my life. Do you get that?" Wade pleaded. "My whole reason for living, and in a blink, they're gone. They were coming to pick me up at the airport. It’s raining and there’s this dog. It ran out on the road and she swerved to miss the god-dammed thing. She drove straight into the path of an oncoming truck. They never stood a chance." He put the pistol down and buried his head in his hands. "It’s my fault. I should have caught a cab... but she insisted." He shook his head, trying to free himself from the unyielding guilt.

"The worst thing is - when Natalie wasn’t there, at the airport, I called her on her mobile. The thing went straight to message bank. So I left a message, and said, if she knew she was going to be late, the least she could do was call me, not leave me just standing around. I was so angry with her." He shook his head and wiped his hand across his nose. "When I hung up there was a missed call." Wade lowered his head. "It was Nat, she was apologizing. She said there had been an accident; she said the paramedics were there. She wouldn’t stop apologizing. I could hear sirens, voices, Natalie screaming. Then this guy gets on the phone, leaves a number for me to call, and hangs up." He raked his fingers through his hair. "God, why…?" he screamed. "I was angry at my wife, and all the time she was dying. Do you know how hard it is to live with that memory every day? Not having the chance to take it back, say sorry. Tell her I loved her. And my kids, they were too young to die. They hadn't even begun to live, for Christ’s sake."

"I understand." the man said. "I understand that if you have never suffered a broken heart, then you have never really known what it is truly to be alive. And I understand that at that precise moment, when your heart breaks open, that all you want to do is lie down and die, because you know that is the only way the pain is ever going to stop." He turned his back for a moment and walked away, refocusing his mind, then returned to Wade. "And this is why I’m asking you to help my family. Because I know you understand."

"Why can’t you help them?" Wade asked. "You messed up with the wrong kind of people?"

"Something like that."

Wade thought for a moment. "What do you want me to do, do you need money?"

"You have to let me step inside you, take your body."

Wade heaved himself up off the bed. "What? You want to step… What the hell are you talking about, step inside... me?"

Brian grabbed Wade’s arm, calming him. "Listen, listen. Just listen. Calm down and I’ll tell you everything."

Wade struggled for a moment then slowly began to relax. He listened to Brian’s voice, Brian's story as it began to infuse itself into his very being. Into his mind, his body, and his soul.

"So, you’re telling me you’re… dead? You’re just this soul now and you want me to let you… step inside my body? You want to be me? That is how you want me to help you?" Wade asked incredulously. "I’d rather just give you the money," he said nervously.

Brian let go of Wade’s arm. "I don’t need money. I need your body."

"Jesus, do you have to keep saying that?" Wade asked, running his fingers through his hair anxiously. "What about my memories, will I remember my wife, my kids?" Wade, asked letting himself fall back down onto the bed. He ran his hands over his face, trying to fathom everything Brian was telling him.

Brian sat down next to him. "You will remember them, for as long as your heart needs to," he said reassuringly.

"Will they, your daughter, your wife, know it’s you, when they see me?"

Brian shook his head. "They will see you, only you, but instinctively, they will trust you. Not right away, but soon enough." Brian put his hand on Wade’s shoulder. "I will be there with you the entire time. Until you are ready to let go. And if you need to take a break, if it starts to get too hard, we will step back. Okay?"

"And this will keep your family safe?" Wade asked. "Me, you, being there?"

"Yes," Brian answered. "It will help keep my family safe."

Wade stood up and paced around the confines of the tiny room. He heard the droning of the air-conditioning struggling to keep pace with the humidity outside. He looked up at the ceiling and studied the dust pressed tight in between the grey ceiling panels. That was where his life was now, pressed between the cracks of life and death, more dead than alive. He should do this, this thing that Brian was asking him to do. He hadn't been able to save his own family... Perhaps this was his only opportunity for absolution? He could help save Brian’s family and find some comfort in that.

"Okay," he said finally. "What do I have to do?"

Brian stood up and walked toward him. "I want you to be the one to tell them, be there for them. Now, close your eyes, it’s a lot easier if you close your eyes. Don't fight it. Just let it happen." But Brian need not have worried about Wade fighting him. Wade had no fight left in him. He had already given up.

Wade took one last look at the photograph of his wife and children, memorizing them, solidifying them into his mind. Then he closed his eyes, exhaled, and let the last of his essence drain slowly away.

* * *

A day later, Wade climbed out of his black four-wheel drive vehicle and walked toward the front door of a house. He knocked four times.

A blonde woman opened the door and just looked at him for a moment. The first thing that he noticed about her was the spark in her eyes. They literally danced, as though they had never rested on sadness. She gazed calmly into familiar green eyes and smiled. "Can I help you?" she asked cheerfully.

God, she looks so much like Natalie, Wade thought to himself. He had never thought to ask Brian about that, what Kate looked like. He had felt what she looked like through Brian. But seeing her like this, just standing there... The sight of her nearly stole his breath away. The resemblance was uncanny. It took everything he had, every ounce of energy, not to reach out and pull her to him. He could feel Brian’s sadness stirring inside him, Brian’s loss; it was Brian who wanted to reach out and touch her cheek, hold her face in his hands and kiss her. Wade struggled with the overwhelming desire to trace his fingers down her cheek. He cleared his throat instead. "Is your name Kate Connors?" he asked, knowing without a single doubt that it couldn’t possibly be anyone else.

Kate frowned then. Her eyes dropped, taking in the uniform for the first time. "Officer, what is it?" she asked, hesitation clipping her voice. Her hand reached up instinctively and covered her mouth. She swallowed. "My daughter, is it my daughter, what’s happened to Grace?"

"Oh no, ma’am, it’s not your daughter. Please, I promise you. Your daughter is just fine."

Kate relaxed and let out a long sigh then laughed. "Oh, thank God. I saw the uniform and just thought; well, I thought the worst…"

Wade felt the weight of his heart grow heavier in his chest. He was about to shatter this woman's world, and that of her child. Suddenly, it didn't feel like absolution anymore.

CHAPTER 6 – Progeny Of Innocence

Darwin, NT, Australia

Year: 2009

At sixteen, nearly seventeen, Grace has grown into a beautiful young woman, with just a hint of naivety. You could picture her posing confidently on the cover of any teenage fashion magazine, and none would screw up their nose to complain, only with envy, perhaps. But as bright and outgoing as Grace appears to the outside world, inwardly her life continues to spiral aimlessly out of control. She constantly feels trapped, exposed - unsafe. She prefers her own private world. There are others, she knows, who are always there, and she knows instinctively that they will eventually seek her out and do her harm. But she pushes those thoughts as far from her mind as possible. How can she possibly be prepared for someone, something she does not understand? Will she even recognize the enemy when it stands in front of her? From my own experience, I fear not.

For quite some time now, Grace has harbored a secret. She has an unquenchable, urgent desire to write down everything she remembers about the increasing visions and dreams that constantly consume her thoughts. She began doing this on the day that she found the leather-bound journal that Wade had left on her bed when she was just 11 years old.

She has a ritual, when it comes to her writing. Firstly, she closes her bedroom door and pushes a chair up against it, securing it against any interruptions. The living are considered unwelcome distractions in this strange and unexplainable world. They are not permitted to enter this deep dark pit that Grace has burrowed down into to reach this forbidden place. This place, where fantasy and reality contort, shift then fuse into ghostly figures from days long past. Others are not meant to be subjected to this otherworldly place she calls purgatory. This is her curse, her cross to bear, that has her trapped like a fly in a spider’s web, somewhere between heaven and hell. Only during her visions does Grace get a tiny glimpse into these other hellish worlds. Our worlds. Worlds that we have shared together as one over the centuries.

Grace usually begins by writing all about the labyrinth of visions that have constantly manipulated their way into her thoughts and dreams. Sometimes she draws what she has seen, and at other times she just flicks through the pages. Black charcoal drawings depict her harrowing nightmares of monstrous figures with talons tearing at flesh. Evil faces with hollow black eye sockets that glisten with yellow unblinking eyes. And blood, lots of blood. Human blood.

Lately, she has been writing more and more about me. She has begun to remember more of the numerous lifetimes that we have shared together. There are so many lifetimes, deaths, which she is yet to remember. Visions that hover ghostlike on a distant horizon, waiting for her to acknowledge them. Visions of other fathers, mothers, brothers, and sisters, all of whom reach out to her with pleading eyes. She writes for hours about the harrowing visions, about life and about death. She writes stories about these other people’s lives: about how they lived, loved and ultimately, about how they died. She does this in an attempt to immortalize them, to remember them, these other lives that somehow she knows she is connected to.

Kali, Tareja, Leon, Maria, a beautiful brown-skinned woman, a rakishly thin father clothed in dirty rags who never came home and a scrawny Bengali kitten named Bonga. There are so many others that are tugging and pulling, vying constantly for her undivided attention. Sometimes she writes about her dreams, depicting the beautiful fair-haired boy she is yet to meet, again. And the faceless, dark-haired boy who watches her from afar. But never so far away that she cannot feel his presence. His intent is not only to remind her of who she is, but of what she is.

Today, Grace is on her own as she waits for Wade. Kate is working another shift at O’Regan's Tavern, and Joshua has managed to extract Angela’s head out of a book long enough to spend the afternoon at the beach with her and a small group of other students from their school. Angela objected, of course, but she finally gave in when Joshua got down on his knees in math class and pleaded with her to go with him. Grace has declined the trip to the beach, citing a headache, and for once, neither Joshua nor Angela has tried to talk her into joining them. Today, Angela and Joshua both know, Grace has other things on her mind that require her undivided attention.

"Come on Angela, it will be fun…"

"Fun, really, me?" she said, frowning at him. "Are you not well? Are you suffering from some kind of delusion? In which parallel universe do you actually see me frolicking around and having fun at the beach?"

"Please, Angela, do it for me… and you never know, you just might have fun."

She looked at him warily. "I find that highly doubtful, Josh."

"Well, how will you know unless you actually try it?"

"I just know. Do you have to drink a hot fish milkshake to know you aren’t going to like it?" she asked.

Joshua looked at her, sticking out his bottom lip.

"Emotional blackmail, really, you want to play that card? You should be ashamed of yourself, Joshua Deneb," Angela said, shaking her head.

Joshua did not budge.

"Oh alright, I’ll do it for you, Josh, but I won’t like it."

Joshua’s face broke into a wide grin. "Great, come on then," he said, attempting to take the heavy, book-laden backpack out of her arms, "we have a lift waiting for us downstairs in the car park."

Angela wrapped her arms protectively around her bag. "Stop treating me like a fragile little girl. I am quite capable of carrying my own school bag."

"Okay, fine," Joshua said, holding up his arms above his head. "I was just trying to do the right thing, being a gentleman-"

"A gentleman," Angela retorted, "would refrain from using emotional blackmail, or sulking to get his own way." She began to walk away, then she turned back to face Joshua. "Well, are you coming or not?"

He jogged enthusiastically after her. "This is going to be fun, you’ll see," he said, pushing the door open wide for her.

Angela gave him a wry smile. "You won’t think that when it starts to rain…"

"It’s not going to rain," Joshua scoffed. "Look at the sky; it’s a beautiful day, and not a cloud in sight."

"You’ll see," Angela said, shaking her head.

When Angela had eventually been coaxed into actually going for a swim, sand had inevitably become lodged in various crevices on which Angela did not care to elaborate. Shortly after this, Joshua had found her fully clothed and sitting on a beach towel with her head hidden back in one of her books. Champsie sat obediently by her side and gave Joshua a sad, apologetic look before depositing his head back in Angela’s lap. Moments later, a brisk breeze picked up and the sky began to grow dark.

Angela tilted her head, raised her eyebrows, and gave Joshua a smug look. Then she promptly began to pack her books into her bag. "Come on, Champsie, up you get," she said, shaking the sand off her towel before folding it up. "I believe our fun time at the beach has reached its conclusion."

Joshua scowled at her and tugged a t-shirt over his head. "I don’t know how you did this," he said, looking up at the clouds forming menacingly in the sky. "But I know you had something to do with it."

"Don’t be ridiculous, Josh. I have absolutely nothing to do with the weather..."

Joshua gave her a questioning look. "You say that like you know something that I don’t."

"Please, Josh; we both know that I know many things that you couldn’t possibly begin to comprehend. And you really shouldn’t fret about that. That’s just the way it is." She left Joshua standing there with a confounded look on his face as she trudged up the beach toward the car park, Champsie almost skipping joyfully beside her. "Careful, Josh," she said. "I’ve heard that if the wind changes, your face will stay like that."

One of Joshua’s friends called out, jolting him out of his statue-like stance. "Hurry up, Josh, it’s about to piss down."

"Thanks Wade," Grace said sliding out of the front seat of Wade’s four-wheel drive. Wade nodded in response.

She pulled her backpack over her shoulder and closed the door. "I’ll call you in about an hour, if that’s okay?"

"Take as long as you like, Grace. I don’t have any other plans."

Grace stepped slowly away from the car and watched Wade drive away. She turned and took the familiar path that she always took from the car park. Above, an alliance of dark clouds began to gather.

An old groundskeeper with a stained canvas fishing cap on his head was raking leaves into a neat pile; he paused for a moment when he saw her. "Grace," he said, nodding as she passed him.

She gave the old man a quick smile and a nod in return before lowering her head and continuing on her way. Seconds later, a chilly breeze picked up and swirled the leaves high in the air, twirling them all around her.

She turned her head back to look at the old man regretfully. "Sorry," she murmured as the leaves began to drift gracefully toward the earth, settling all around her.

The old man pulled the cap off his head and wiped it across his sweaty brow. "Not to worry, Grace, it’s only a few leaves, absolutely nothing to worry about, my girl." He looked up at the coagulating clouds as they drifted ghostlike across the warm glow of the sun, painting the sky an ominous grey color. "But if you wouldn’t mind holding off the rain for just a little longer, until I have time to get these leaves raked up again, that would be greatly appreciated," he said, smiling at her. He pulled his old cap back onto his slightly balding head. "You take care now, you hear." He began raking the leaves into another neat pile.

Grace nodded and offered him a sad smile. The poor old thing, she thought. What on earth had given him the ridiculous notion that she was capable of holding off the rain? She had just felt sorry that he would have to rake up the scattered leaves again. Not apologetic for anything that she had done to cause it. For five years, she had watched this old man tend lovingly to the grounds. But not once could she remember ever having a conversation with him, or telling him her name. She let the thoughts go. She had far more important things on her mind today.

Grace knew that it would take her less than two minutes to reach her destination. She could have been blindfolded on a moonless night, and still she would not have lost her way. She had walked this path so many times in the past few years alone, and at other times with her mother. The manicured lawn felt like a plush carpet beneath her feet as she walked. She breathed in and smelt the earthy smell of freshly cut lawn. Somewhere in the distance, she could hear a lawnmower as it coughed, then spluttered into a gradual silence. The ear-piercing squawk of a bird overhead had her looking skyward. Although he was camouflaged in the rolling grey clouds, it still only took her a moment to spot him. She could feel his beady, black eyes boring into her in a strange, yet comforting, way. After five years, she had grown completely accustomed to his being there, drifting above her from his vantage point, and watching over her protectively.

For a moment, she just stood there and stared at the white marble headstone. Then she dropped her shoulder a little to let her backpack fall to the ground by her feet. She sat down on the grass, picked up a bunch of roses and white lilies, and placed them in her lap. She leaned back and pressed her shoulder up against the icy stone surface. Her finger traced the grooves of the engraved letters.

Brian Connors.

Beloved Husband and Father.

Forever Missed.

R.I.P.

"Hello, Dad," she murmured softly. "I see that Mom has already visited you today," Grace said, lifting the flowers to her nose to inhale their sweet scent. "The flowers are lovely Dad, your favorites."

A bright ray of sunlight sliced through the dispersing clouds above, illuminating her face. "Skies from heaven, Dad," she whispered, closing her eyes and laying her cheek against the cold marble surface. Sitting there like this reminded Grace of the times she had sat on her father’s lap as a child, her face pressed hard against the warmth of his chest. The memories of that little girl sitting on her father’s lap curled her lips into a smile. Then suddenly the smile slipped away, dragging her back to a darker time, a darker place. Back to that horrible day when she had watched her father’s coffin disappearing slowly into the gaping muddy hole in the earth. The tears came effortlessly then; she did not try to stop them. Grace thought about the old man. She hoped he had finished raking up his leaves, because at any moment, it was about to rain.

The eagle screeched, and glided down gracefully on outstretched wings to seek shelter from the rain on the branch of a tall tree. The very same tree he had chosen every year when it inevitably had begun to rain.

The rain came down ever so lightly at first. Grace turned her face slowly skyward and let the raindrops run freely down her face.

Grace did not notice the dark silhouette of a man, concealed by the dense tree line bordering the cemetery, watching her. She never did. However, every year he was standing there, watching over her.

An hour later, clothing drenched and wet tendrils plastered to her face; Grace climbed back into Wade’s car. Neither of them had spoken on the fifteen-minute drive home. There wasn’t anything that needed saying; he had never known her father.

Wade was the first to break the silence as he pulled up outside the house. "I have a few errands to run. Do you need anything while I’m out?"

"No, I’m good." Grace replied hopping down out of the car.

"Well just call me if you think of anything, okay?"

"Sure thing, thanks, Wade. But I think I’m just going to go change into some dry clothes and lie down for awhile."

"Okay, Kiddo… but remember…"

"Yeah, I know, call if I want anything." She closed the door and waved.

Wade smiled. "Right," he said, nodding his head. Then he slowly pulled the car out into the tree-lined street and drove away.

Grace hurried to her bedroom and changed into dry clothes. Then she sat down on her bed, sliding her hand under the mattress to retrieve her journal from its secret hiding place. She opened the book and buried her face in its pages. She closed her eyes and drew in a long, deep breath, savoring the familiar scent of the pages. She held her breath and let the spellbinding smell of the old papyrus pages draw her inward. Then back, back, back. Back to another time that was always just out of her grasp. Visions hovered tantalizingly in her mind for just an instant before vaporizing into nothingness.

Only a name remained. Juliette. And she asked the question she had asked herself a million times before. "Who is Juliette, and why am I reliving these lives over and over again?"

She doesn’t have the answer to that question yet, but I do. For I am JULIETTE.

She flicked through the dog-eared pages and paused at a picture with a date scrawled across the bottom. July 19. It was a photograph of Grace and her father Brian, taken on her 11th birthday.

Her father had given her the gold eagle pendant that she held absently between her lips. She ran her fingers gently over the bright light hovering beside her in the photograph. A reflection from the flash, her mother had said. However, Grace had known better. Those glowing lights captured in her childhood photographs were reminders of her friend, Hope. Those, and the white feather she had found on her bedroom floor the day of her father’s funeral.

She ran her fingertips down the delicate soft spine, remembering. She absently began singing the melody from her jewelry box; somewhere, over the rainbow, blue birds fly... She quickly sat up and reached for the box sitting on her bedside table and turned the key at the bottom until she could turn it no more. Then she placed it back down, opened the lid and watched for a moment as the tiny ballet dancer with her arms stretched high above her head twirled around and around. Slowly, slowly the little ballet dancer began to wind down, and stopped, her arms stretched above her head, her eyes fixed, as though frozen in time. Grace’s eyes brimmed with tears that did not fall. She let out a heavy sigh, gently closed the lid, and returned to her journal. She turned another page and stopped.

Movie butts were taped on the page from the day her father had taken her to the movies. They had gone to see ‘The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King’.

Afterwards she had dressed up for hours and pretended to be Galadriel the golden haired Noldorin princess, daughter of Finarfin. Hope was her faithful sidekick as they fought side by side to slay their ferocious enemy. They had always been victorious in their various battles to save Middle-earth. Brian had made her a timber sword and she had used the lid of a plastic garbage bin as her shield. She had painted a giant eagle on the black plastic in gold paint, and told her father that the golden eagle would protect her.

It is a shame that real life events very rarely portray the grandiose victories personified in fiction.

Little did Grace know that her childhood battles were educating her in the artistry of war, preparing her for the formidable opponent that was lurking in the murky shadows … waiting.

She turned the page to another photograph. The photograph had been taken at Brian’s last birthday party, around the small kitchen table. It was also the last photograph of the three of them together as a family, a picture of Brian, Kate, and Grace, and the bright light that hovered persistently over Grace’s shoulder.

When Grace closed her eyes, she could still taste the chocolate frosting from the cake she and Kate had baked for Brian.

Grace had helped her father blow out his birthday candles. Ready, Grace, on three, he had said, and she blew as hard as she could.

Today, however, she wrote carefully on the coarse ivory pages. No rushed words or scribbled drawings. Today, she was writing a letter to her father, just as she did every year at this time. Today was a Wednesday. Wednesday the 22nd of April 2009. Her father had died five years ago on this day.

She ran her hand over a photograph, willing her father to come to life under her fingers. Tears, too many to hold back, eased their path down her cheeks and onto the pages. She sniffed, and brushed them away with her fingertips, smudging some of the words on the page.

Next to the photograph of her father was stuck a small, clear plastic bag. It held dried, faded rose petals from the rose she had plucked from Brian’s coffin, just moments before it had disappeared out of her reach into the dark muddy hole that had swallowed her father up whole that day. She remembered how she had hated to think about her father lying down there in that dark deep hole in the earth, cold and all alone, restrained for eternity in a satin-lined timber box. She still did. Goosebumps made their shivery way up her arms and she gulped down a choking sob. "Oh, Dad, why can’t you still be here? I miss you so much." She turned another page.

There were curls of her father's brown hair that she had retrieved from his hairbrush after he had died. They had been lovingly stashed in there too, for safekeeping.

She had told Angela once that she wanted to be prepared, just in case the documentaries she had seen on television about human cloning became a viable option in the future. You never know, she had said to Angela, wistfully. Angela had just smiled and nodded and said, yes, you never know.

Grace categorizes her life in two distinctly different parts. Part one, before her father’s death. And part two, after her father’s death. People do this, I have learned. People who have had significant events change their lives forever. For Grace, for now, it is before her father’s death and after her father’s death that define her, define the light and the dark, the good and the evil.

She slowly closed the journal and traced her fingers along the gold letters on the cover that spelt her name. She brushed her tears away and replaced the leather-bound journal beneath the mattress, where it would stay concealed for another day.

She doesn’t know why she stows the journal secretly away. But I do.

I know why certain smells, particular sounds, tastes, and images can send her spiraling down into her bottomless black hole to hell. And why at other times the same provocations can fill her entire being with unequivocal joy.

CHAPTER 7 – How Did I Get Here?

"How did I get here?" Grace asked as she sat slouched at the kitchen table dressed ready for another day at high school. She was spinning a piece of half-eaten toast around on the plate in front of her with her finger, a remnant of her breakfast. She peered at Angela sitting opposite her at the kitchen table; Angela almost always had an answer before she had finished asking the question.

She frowned when no answer was forthcoming, and she was greeted instead by silence and the top of Angela’s head. She studied a blob of Vegemite on the end of her index finger. Vegemite, she realized, was the identical color to Angela’s satiny black hair, a stark contrast to her pale skin.

Grace continued to mull over the persistent questions that had taken up permanent residence in her head. How did I get here? Why am I here? Why are they trying to kill me? There were a growing list of other questions - who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Why am I here? Why am I here? Why am I here? Who is Juliette? Who is Juliette? Who is Juliette? Grace shook the relentless questions from her mind. Sometimes she felt like she was going to go crazy.

Angela’s head, as usual, was hidden in what Grace considered another dreary textbook. Angela’s lack of interest in the topics that most sixteen-year-old girls immersed themselves in continued to bemuse Grace, but not as much as it once had. She had eventually accepted the array of oddities that personified Angela. Like her headstrong eagerness for acquiring knowledge in the most profound subjects imaginable. But regardless of Angela’s many oddities, Grace was drawn to the girl like a moth to a flame. She was both entranced and calmed by the soothing presence that radiated from Angela’s tiny elf-like frame.

If Grace was Yin, Angela was undeniably Yang. Together they seemed to balance each other out perfectly, and Grace’s life desperately needed a good measure of balance.

Angela’s head snapped up to peer at Grace over the rim of her book. She wondered if she should continue reading or indulge Grace with an answer? She mulled over the short list of options in her head.

One: To answer Grace, which she figured would be a total waste of time, considering Grace’s current state of mind. Nothing more than unorganized chaos bouncing off the walls of her skull, she surmised.

Or two: Simply ignore Grace, and continue reading.

Angela sighed then lowered her book gently on the table in front of her; she was finding it hard to read anyway, with the constant flow of random thoughts that were flowing endlessly from Grace’s mind on fast-forward, rewind, fast-forward. Her thoughts were almost always in a perpetual state of disorganization now. The right angular gyrus of her brain was randomly misfiring, and was spitting out tangled thoughts and images like a blender on high-speed without the lid on. She was becoming increasingly more difficult for Angela to read, contain, control. She knew that anyone else having to exist in this perpetual state of mind would have required copious amounts of medication to sustain any kind of rational human behavior. In fact, anyone else in this state would be bound up in a straitjacket by now and deposited into the nearest mental institution. Angela squirmed in her seat, then sat up straight and concentrated firmly on Grace.

Grace’s mind did a sudden u-turn and then ground to a sudden halt. She began to think about how fast the last five years had gone, since her father’s death. Since Wade, Angela, Josh, and - a dog yapped noisily at her feet, insistent on acknowledgment. It was Angela’s small bundle of white fluff and unfailing companion, Champsie, the West Highland terrier. Grace, as though understanding his demand, reached down and ruffled the fur on the top of his head. "Yes, and you too, Champsie."

"Well," Angela began, trying to defuse the situation. "You walked down the hall-" Angela stopped speaking. Was she wasting her time, she wondered? It appeared that Grace had already moved on temporarily from that particular line of thought. Perhaps this was nothing more than just another one of Grace’s rhetorical questions? Maybe I should just go back to my reading, less painful for both of us, Angela thought, reaching for her book.

Grace frowned. "Noooo, I don’t mean how did I get here? I know that. I mean… me, this life..." Grace pulled herself up straight in her chair and continued. "I see this beautiful place but there’s smoke everywhere, and there’s a girl and she’s me, but she isn’t me and she’s... Oh, I don’t know what I mean!" Grace slumped back in her seat and rubbed her hand over her forehead in complete frustration. Then with more enthusiasm she began again. "Everyone’s running, there’s a fire, I’m, I mean the girl, she’s crying… there is this woman, with dark hair. She is wearing colorful silk robes; she’s a goddess or something. Then I’m lying on the floor and I’m…" Grace couldn’t say the word. She didn’t know why, she had experienced so many deaths in her dreams that one more shouldn’t make any difference. But somehow it did. In this dream it felt different.

Dead, Angela thought, but she kept that answer to herself. "Oh," Angela said, closing the book she had been reading, titled ‘Human Ascent,’ by Henry Gobus. Was Grace starting to remember, she wondered? She frowned. It was too early; Grace was not prepared…. None of them was prepared for what was coming. The diversity of natural disasters occurring across the world was just a hint of what was to come. There were still so many missing pieces that were paramount to any hope for attaining success. Grace pointed at the pile of books Angela had piled up in front of her. "I just thought that with all that stuff you read that you just might have figured out the answers by now."

"I do have answers." Angela replied quickly with an indignant look on her face. But you’re not ready for those answers yet, she thought silently to herself.

"You don’t have all the answers." Grace persisted, tilting her head and taking a bite out of the cold piece of toast she had all but abandoned on her plate. She washed it down with a sip of cold coffee and screwed up her nose.

"About how you got here?" Angela asked, raising her eyebrows. And to herself, Oh, if only you knew…

"No. Not that. This morning I asked you if these jeans made my bum look big, and you didn’t have an answer for that."

"Oh good Gods," Angela moaned, reaching for the sanctity of her book.

The coffee tearing through Grace’s nervous system was not proving conducive to Angela’s usual razor-sharp abilities. For the sake of the Ancients, Grace, Angela thought excruciatingly. Focus, focus, focus, or we are all doomed!

Grace had known that asking Angela’s opinion about clothes or anything pertaining to the realms of fashion would be a futile exercise. She knew the question would pain Angela, and make her frown in that particular way that equally puzzled and amused Grace.

Grace smiled and tilted her head at her friend and thought, if I asked you how far the earth is from the sun, you would know the answer to that wouldn’t you?

Angela, in an almost inaudible whisper said, "Approximately one hundred and fifty million kilom-"

"How do you do that?" Grace asked in complete awe.

It didn’t matter how many times Angela had answered one of Grace’s unspoken thoughts; she was always completely stunned by Angela’s response.

Angela’s frown deepened as she picked up something else from Grace’s renewed burst of random thoughts. "This is about that Draco boy, isn’t it?" she said, studying Grace’s face intently.

"No! Grace stammered. "Well, maybe… yes," she admitted reluctantly. There really was no point denying anything to Angela.

Angela just looked at her. "It is; I know it is. A person doesn’t have to be a mind reader to work that one out, Grace. You have been gawking at him ever since he arrived at school. Most of the girls are infatuated with him. Even Jeremy Smits appears to be hopelessly besotted. The poor boy nearly fell off his seat yesterday in History when Damon stalked into class."

"Oh yes, that was funny," Grace said, grinning and popping the last piece of the toast in her mouth. However, inwardly her heart faltered. She knew exactly how poor Jeremy felt: insignificant, and completely unworthy of the attention of the likes of Damon Draco.

Grace was, in fact, undeniably infatuated with Damon and his brooding good looks. There really was no denying that, she knew it was only a matter of time before Angela picked up on her feelings toward him. She wondered if Angela understood her feelings for Damon any better than she did.

Angela was still frowning at her painfully.

Grace squirmed in her chair and gulped down the remainder of her coffee. "You know, Angela. All that frowning isn’t doing your complexion any good. You'll get wrinkles. And I haven’t been gawking at him," Grace insisted. "Well, maybe just a little bit," she conceded, splaying her fingers. "But can you blame me? He’s gorgeous. He’s walking candy, a God."

"Candy rots your teeth, and the Gods have far more important things to do than reincarnate into the likes of Damon Draco," Angela muttered, frustrated by the lack of a better response.

"Anyway, so what if I was staring, he-"

"He isn’t for you. He's trouble," Angela said, finishing Grace’s sentence for her.

"How can you say that about him, he’s only been at the school for what, two weeks and-"

"Oh, I just know, Grace, okay?" Angela said. "You really have to trust me on this."

Perhaps Angela was right, Grace thought regretfully. Maybe she was being completely delusional about the feelings she was having for Damon Draco. She had never even really spoken to him. So how could what she was feeling for him be real? Grace let out a painful groan. An overwhelming sadness swept through her, hurting her as if Angela’s words had punched her hard in the stomach and knocked the wind out of her, knocking all hope out of her that maybe Damon was the one. The mysterious boy that came to her in her dreams at night. She wanted so badly for Angela to be wrong about Damon.

Please, please, please, let Angela be wrong. Grace thought to herself, pleading with a God that she wasn’t sure still existed, or in fact, ever had.

"How does that saying go, never trust anyone who says 'trust me'?" a boy in a pair of checked boxer shorts and a white singlet said as he flopped down at the kitchen table opposite Grace and Angela.

"Damon Draco," Angela said abruptly. "I was just telling Grace that he can’t be trusted."

"Oh, trust me, Grace. Angela is right about that guy. You can’t trust him," he said, echoing Angela’s words. "Anyone else want a coffee?" he asked, rubbing Champsie on the stomach with his foot.

"Yeah, I’ll have another one," Grace said, handing him her empty mug.

Oh great, Angela thought to herself. That's just what she needs - more caffeine buzzing through her veins. She let out a sigh, then gave Zach a swift kick under the table.

"Ouch! Zach yelped at Angela, dragging himself off the chair and rubbing his ankle. "What the hell was that for?"

"I’ll just have another glass of tap water, please, Zach," Angela said, smiling innocently.

"Yeah right, all you had to do was ask," he mumbled, limping into the kitchen.

Angela rolled her eyes at his theatrical performance. She knew she hadn’t actually hurt him, that his performance had been orchestrated for Grace’s benefit.

"You missed your calling, Zach," Angela muttered.

Grace watched as Zach limped into the kitchen. "Calling, what do you mean he missed his calling?" Grace asked pulling her eyes away from the limping boy.

"Zach," Angela replied. "He missed his calling. He should have been an actor, or a court jester, conjuring up a host of tricks for an unsuspecting audience."

"Yeah," Zach replied eagerly. "I would have done all my own magic tricks, too." He threw Grace’s mug high up into the air where it appeared to just hang in midair as he did a back flip then caught the twirling mug as it began to fall. He caught it just seconds before the mug had a chance to smash on the floor.

"Oh my God, Zach, that was amazing. How did you do that? Do it again," Grace said, standing up and clapping her hands excitedly.

Champsie ran around in circles at Grace’s feet and yapped, applauding Zach’s clever ability.

"Hush, Champsie," Angela demanded, pointing at the dog. The dog snapped his mouth shut and sank to the floor with a whimper.

Zach took a bow. "I think not, Miss Grace, one performance per day is quite sufficient."

Angela glared at the boy and silently said, 'What in the name of Gods has gotten into you, Zach? For God's sake, tone it down, okay, or you will have Wade to answer to.'

Silently he responded. 'Yeah, okay. I just wanted to see what this body was capable of. Not bad, considering.'

'Well now you know, so cut it out,' Angela replied wordlessly. To Grace she said, "I told you he was faking the sore ankle. He’s just a big drama king."

Grace giggled at Angela’s phrasing. "I think you mean drama queen."

"No I don’t, Zach is male. So the term would be drama king," Angela persisted.

"It doesn’t work like that," Grace said, shaking her head.

Angela sighed at still not being able to grasp the ridiculous reasoning in such matters. "Well, that is just plain stupid then."

"Want to see me juggle the kettle and the mug? And these oranges?" Zach asked, gathering up oranges from the fruit basket on the kitchen bench.

"Yes," said Grace eagerly.

"No. Absolutely not, we have to get to school!" Angela said, glaring at him.

Zach laughed at the exasperated look on Angela’s face. "I was just kidding, Ange," he said, returning the kettle to the stove and taking a bite out of one of the unpeeled oranges.

"Angela, my name is Angela," she said, correcting him with a fierce look. "Not Ange or Angie. Angela."

"Gross, Zach," Grace said, screwing up her nose. "Aren’t you going to peel the orange first?"

Zach stopped chewing for a moment and contemplated Grace’s question. He looked at Angela. Then he resumed chewing. "Nope, tastes just fine to me."

Zach looked so at home now, not like the day when he'd first arrived at Grace’s home, a tight bundle of nerves swathed in a gorgeous body that he had been struggling to adjust to. Adapting to this body had been harder than he had anticipated. But adapt Zach did, and beautifully. He was beginning to adjust to this new life, new role and begin fitting effortlessly into Grace’s life.

CHAPTER 8 – House Guest

Zach was what we called a ‘drifter’, or ‘wanderer’. He was an Altairian soul who could shift from one human body to another. Usually permission has been granted from the host – but not always. Before his soul had walked into this body, Zach’s body, he had gone by the name of Caelum, the Latin word for sky, heaven, celestial. Caelum, like Brian, was an Altairian in the Royal Bulguardian Army, from the stricken city of Altair. He was here now to track, protect and ultimately to destroy whenever necessary. His abilities, when his soul had completely melded with this new body, Zach’s body, would be quite extraordinary.

There were many like Caelum that walked here among the inhabitants of this planet, disguised in human form. Free to move unnoticed and unobserved. Some were ‘sleepers’, yet to be woken, unaware of their true identities. They might be standing next to you in line at the ATM, on the bus or at the video store. Perhaps there was more to that shy delivery boy who delivered your pizza.

Drifters have a particular presence about them that you notice immediately, but you shake off the feeling, not daring to believe in the possibility of something, someone so different to yourselves. But the more perceptive humans, who are not afraid to look a little closer, a little deeper, discover such wondrous things outside the realm of their own miniscule existence: answers to all things, great and small. For those few short awe-inspiring moments, it is as though the mortal soul bursts through into spring. But this state of being cannot be emotionally sustained by human fragility, and slowly but surely, the persistent hand of reason pulls them back, leaving the shy pizza delivery boy’s true identity concealed once again.

Grace thought back to the day, a few short months ago, when her family had unexpectedly expanded. She had found Wade standing at the front door with his fist curled up, preparing to knock.

"Heard you pull up," she said, giving him one of her widest grins. Then, "Hey Mom, there’s a hottie on the front door step, shall I let him in, or send him on his way?" Grace giggled. "You know you don’t have to knock, Wade, just come in, you’re part of the furniture now." She looked him up and down approvingly. "Looking very smooth and stealth-like in that get-up, officer. Are you on an important assignment, rounding up more half-crazed monsters, flesh-eating zombies, shape shifters, werewolves? Oh I know, blood suckers, vampires!" Grace said enthusiastically.

"Very funny, Kiddo. You watch way too many scary movies. No wonder you have trouble sleeping."

"I do not have trouble sleeping," Grace said, folding her arms across her chest.

Wade looked at her. "Yes, Grace, you do. Now move aside and invite us into this humble dwelling before I burst into flames or whatever it is that happens if monsters stay out in the sunlight too long. There’s someone I want you to meet…"

"Really, he’s here, today? I thought…" She stood on her toes to take a quick peek over Wade’s shoulder.

"Yes, today," Wade answered, lifting her off the ground and giving her a quick bear hug before releasing her to the floor.

Grace studied Zach. She blushed when he returned her curious gaze. Zach smiled then squirmed, as if he was wearing an ill-fitting jacket.

Wade gently moved Grace aside and ushered Zach inside. Silently he said to his younger counterpart, 'Calm down, Zach, or you will blow it.'

Zach was easily 179 centimeters tall, almost the same height as Wade, and at seventeen he was almost a year older than Grace. He had an athletic build, an olive complexion and neatly cut bronze-colored hair with tips bleached white by the sun.

But it wasn’t Zach’s perfectly toned physique that had Grace’s attention transfixed on this boy; it was his dazzling emerald-green eyes. They were enchanting, spellbinding, and impossibly beautiful. It was almost physically impossible for her to draw her eyes away from his hypnotic gaze.

"Pollen," Grace said, rubbing her eyes to break the spell. She dropped her head and stepped further back to let Wade and Zach enter.

Kate rushed to the door, drying her hands on the sides of her jeans, to welcome the boy. "This must be Zach, welcome. Wade called to say you were arriving soon. Come on in, please." She put her hand out to shake his, and then decided a motherly hug was far more fitting to the occasion.

Zach stepped back defensively, then shot his arms above his head, trying to avoid as much physical contact with Kate as possible.

Kate laughed. "It’s okay Zach, I don’t bite."

Zach took a quick glance at the light on the ceiling, nothing. He slowly lowered his arms and cautiously returned Kate’s embrace.

Kate released the boy. "You’ve met Grace, I see."

"Yes, just now," Zach said nervously, wondering if he was meant to hug her as well. Grace didn’t make any advances toward him, so he remained still. Observing.

Kate smiled at him. "Did anyone ever tell you that you have the most beautiful green eyes, Zach?"

"Mom," Grace blurted. "Don’t be so embarrassing. Zach, can I get you a cold drink from the kitchen? Coffee for you, Mom, Wade?" she asked retreating to the kitchen. She stole another quick peek at Zack over her shoulder. Her cheeks flushed crimson when she realized that he had caught her looking at him.

Zack gave a quick nod and smiled. "A cold drink would be great, thanks." He stood awkwardly glued to the spot, not sure what to do within the confines of his new body.

Wade shot him a frantic pull-it-together look and nodded his head toward Grace.

"Um, I’ll go help Grace with the drinks," Zach said, dashing off after Grace.

"Oh, it’s okay. I can manage, really," Grace said, reaching up to take two coffee mugs down from the kitchen cupboard, then added, "soft drinks are in the bottom of the fridge door. Can you grab me one, too?"

"Sure thing, here, um," Zach studied the label, "lemonade okay?"

"Sure, thanks." She took the can from him and smiled. This time he returned her smile without the nervous awkwardness. Grace pulled herself up, sat on the kitchen counter and stared at the kettle on the gas stove, willing it to boil faster.

Zach followed suit. Then he studied the can in his hand. He watched Grace as she pulled back the tab on the can she held, then took a sip of the cold, fizzy liquid. He mimicked her behavior, wincing as the cold, sweet liquid bubbled down his throat. Cold sweet liquid, he thought, he would have to get used to that.

"So," Grace started, "where are you actually from?"

Zach pulled his eyes off the kettle, fired Wade a quick glance, and said silently, 'don’t worry, I’ve got this.'

"Cairns, in Queensland, have you ever been there before?"

"No. Is that where your parents... I'm sorry. I don’t mean to-"

"No, it’s okay, and yes, that is where my parents were…" he hesitated for a moment."Yes, that is where my parents were killed."

"Were killed? Like, murdered?" she asked in a hushed voice.

A screeching whistle tore through the unanswered question. Grace’s heart pounded as she spun around to find a torrent of steam howling angrily from the kettle on the stovetop. She swiftly jumped down off the kitchen counter and plucked the kettle off the stove to silence it.

"Kettle’s boiled," she announced unnecessarily. "The usual, you guys, white with two?" She grabbed a carton of milk from the fridge and absently sniffed it as she watched Zach studying the tears of condensation running down the side of his soft drink can with fascination.

"Thanks, Kiddo," Wade replied from the kitchen table.

Wade had told Kate and Grace a few days earlier how Zach’s parents had been killed, but he hadn’t elaborated on the how. And with no other living relatives, or friends to speak of, Zach was left completely alone. An orphan, Wade had said. Kate hadn’t hesitated for a second. She agreed to take the boy into her home immediately. No questions asked. And when Kate had told Grace about the plans for their new houseguest, she had been absolutely thrilled with the idea.

Grace wasn’t an orphan, of course; she had her mother, and Angela and Josh and Wade. But sometimes she felt so alone and disconnected from herself that she felt she could relate to Zach’s circumstances.

She remembered when she was eleven, just after her father had died. How she would wake up in the middle of the night and drift aimlessly around the house in the still of the night. Searching for the father, who she realized was never coming home.

But Wade had been there to comfort her. Come on Kiddo, climb in, Wade would say, patting the sofa and making room next to him for her. She would cuddle up close to him, her head resting against his chest, listening to his rhythmic heartbeat as it lulled her back to sleep.

In the morning, Grace would find herself tucked up safely in her own bed. She would pretend that it was her father holding her, tucking her back into bed and brushing her hair softly from her forehead. When she eventually dragged herself out of bed in the mornings and wandered out to the lounge room to watch television, Wade would already be in the kitchen, preparing breakfast for her.

"Cereal, Grace?"

"Yes please," she answered, "and a coffee."

"You’re eleven years old, Grace; you’re too young for coffee. Milk or juice?"

"Okay, milk, then," she answered half-heartedly as she propped herself up on one of the stools at the breakfast bench.

"So when do you think I’ll be old enough to drink coffee?"

Wade studied her for a moment. "Sixteen, maybe," he said, putting a mug of cold milk down in front of her. He produced it in her favorite ‘Hope’ mug, that depicted an angel with beautiful white wings.

She sniffed it, then, cautiously took a tiny sip, tasting it like a seasoned connoisseur tasting a questionable glass of wine.

"Would you like a spit bucket with that?" Wade asked grinning.

She squished her tiny face up at him. "A spit bucket? Why? What’s a spit bucket? That sounds horrible, a bucket full of spit. Gross."

"Never mind. I’ve already given the milk the 'Connors' sniff test, no more than five minutes ago. It's fine, now drink."

She drank her milk and thought about their conversation. "Sixteen, that’s five years away, I think thirteen sounds better."

"Fifteen... and that’s my final offer."

"Deal!" she said, putting out her hand to shake on it.

Wade picked up a sharp knife and made a small cut on his palm.

Grace’s eyes popped open wide as she stared at the blood pooling in his palm.

"Cool, can I do that?" she asked, shoving her hand out toward him.

He took her hand gently in his and made a small incision.

"That didn’t hurt a bit," she said, amazed that no pain had accompanied the blade slicing through the flesh on her palm.

Wade smiled. "I didn’t think that it would."

She watched the blood trickle from the cut in her palm. "It isn’t really red like I thought it would be; it’s more bluish really. Let me see yours."

She peered into his palm. "It’s bluish-red, too, like mine."

"So it is. Okay, ready to shake on it?" Wade asked.

Grace nodded. "Yep, shake." They clasped hands and shook hands three times.

Had Grace looked, she would have noticed that her hand had already completely healed from the cut.

"Fifteen it is, Kiddo, not a day earlier, now eat your breakfast." He put a bowl of fruit loops down on the bench in front of her and handed her a spoon. Fifteen would be the perfect age to start preparing her for the next step in her journey. Wade did the calculations. They only had four years to prepare. With any hope, a little longer.

"Thanks, Wade," Grace said as she shoveled a mouthful of cereal into her mouth.

"You are very welcome, Kiddo."

"Are you staying here while I go to school?" she asked him.

"Just till your mom gets up, why?"

Grace shrugged her shoulders. "Sometimes mom is still in bed when I get home. I get lonely and I miss my dad. I like having you around."

The toast launched itself out of the toaster and landed on the kitchen bench with a plop. "Toast?" Wade asked gathering it up.

"Yes please, with Vegemite. I like it spread right to the edges."

"Then right to the edges it is." Wade grabbed a plate for himself and sat down next to Grace at the breakfast bench. "You haven’t made friends with the little girl next door yet?" he asked.

"Nope. I’ve seen her at school, but mostly I just sit by myself. The other kids don’t really like me that much."

"Hmm, not to worry, I’m sure she will come over soon enough and introduce herself, and before you know it, you will be the best of friends. She probably has a few things to take care of, you know, settle in, all that. Moving into a new house, a new school and making new friends, things like that take time."

"You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know. I’ve been here for ages and I still haven’t made any friends. I had one friend once, Patrick, but he died." She took a mouthful of milk and left a milky moustache across the top of her lip.

Wade smiled but said nothing as he leaned across and wiped the milk gently off her top lip with his napkin.

When Grace waved goodbye to Wade that morning on her way to school, she didn’t know that it was going to be their last breakfast together for a while. Then, just days later, precisely as Wade had predicted, Angela and Champsie appeared at the back door to introduce themselves to her.

So yes, Grace could imagine how alone Zach must have felt moving to a new city with no family or friends.

Grace let out a sigh as she watched Zach leaning against the kitchen bench drinking his lemonade. She would be his friend; his family, too, if he wanted one.

"So I take it you are okay with this, Kiddo?" Wade asked as he walked into the kitchen and picked up the two mugs of freshly made coffee from the bench.

"Yes! It will be like having a big brother."

"Thank you," Zach said shyly, "I like the sound of that." He put the can down, wiping his hands on the front of his shirt.

"Come on then, I’ll show you the spare room, your room," Grace said, grabbing his hand and dragging him off down the hall.

A spark of blue and white electricity arced between their fingertips, but Zach could tell that Grace had felt nothing.

"Tomorrow, you can meet my friends Angela and Josh."

Wade watched them go, then headed back to Kate in the lounge room. "Thanks for this, Kate," he said, sitting down. "He’s a good kid; you won’t have any trouble with him."

"It will be nice having him around the house. Good for Grace, too, I think. I always regretted not having more children, having brothers and sisters for her to grow up with. But it just never happened."

Wade nodded. "You working tonight?"

"Six days straight. Old Mrs Cravits, our kitchen hand, fell down a flight of stairs last night in her home. They say a dog had started tearing her to bits. Her head was found under the kitchen table in a pool of blood, well there would have been a pool of blood, thirsty dog I guess. They hardly found a drop anywhere. And nearly every bone in her body had been broken from the fall. It’s just so terrible, her poor family." Kate shook her head, thinking about Mrs Cravits’s head being chased around the house, like a dog playing with a soccer ball. "So anyway, I’m taking on all her shifts until they find a replacement for her."

"Yes, I heard about that one from a few of the guys down at the station. It wouldn’t be the first time a person was eaten by his or her own dog. Makes you think twice about the saying, ‘man’s best friend’".

"She didn’t own a dog..." Kate replied absently and then added. "I don’t know how you can sleep at night, Wade, with all those horrible visions racing around in your head."

Wade stared into his coffee cup and swirled it before taking another sip. "You get used to it after a while. You have to." Then he looked up at her and frowned. "What do you mean?"

"About seeing all that blood and death, I don’t know how-"

"No. What you said about the dog just now."

"What about the dog?" Kate asked.

"You said she didn’t own a dog."

Kate shrugged her shoulders. "She didn’t, she-"

"How do you know that?"

"Because she told me. She told me only two days ago how she would like to have a dog, but she couldn’t because she’s allergic to dog hair or something, so she bought a goldfish instead. Not that a goldfish would be much company. What’s this all about, anyway?"

Wade put down his coffee cup and headed quickly for the door. "Gotta go."

Kate watched him leave. "Okay, then," she said to the empty room. "I’ll tell Zach you had to go."

Kate drank down the remainder of her coffee, her mind conjuring up an assortment of bloody images of poor Mrs Cravits lying bloodless and broken on the floor. Wondering what would have been the last memory the woman recalled before death had finally taken her from this world. Would she remember the last terrifying and brutal moments of her life, as the animal's teeth tore into her flesh? As it tore flesh hungrily from her bones with its razor-sharp fangs? Or would she recall happier memories of playing contentedly with her two grandchildren, Candice and Bonnie, in the backyard? Two little girls forced to grow up without their Granny to spoil them on birthdays and Christmases.

Kate hoped that it was the fall that had killed Mrs Cravits, not the razor-sharp fangs of ‘man's best friend’. Champsie walked over, wagging his tail, and sat himself down at Kate’s feet. He stared up at her with unblinking eyes and gave one quick yap before letting his soft pink tongue dangle out the side of his mouth.

"Don’t even think about it," Kate said, patting him on his head as he softly whined and sank to the floor beside her. She drank the last of her coffee and listened to the highs and lows of Grace and Zach’s laughter echoing from down the hall.

"This was a good idea letting the boy move in, wasn’t it?" she asked Champsie. "Brian would have known what to do." Champ gave an agreeable yap, then dropped his head on his paws. "God, I miss you!" she said, looking into her empty coffee cup, then up at the framed portrait of the three of them hanging on the wall. The last of the daylight stole in through the kitchen windows, giving the room a soft muted glow.

Kate sighed and got up from the kitchen table. She flicked on the light switch and walked into the kitchen, tugging an old pizza coupon off the fridge door as she passed. She read aloud from the flyer. "Cheap Tuesdays, home-delivered. That sounds good enough for me." She plucked the phone off the wall, dialed the number, then waited for a familiar voice to answer. She would have to remember to order extra for their new houseguest Zach.

CHAPTER 9 – Hollow Moon

Lula Luparti was both smart and beautiful, and was therefore the most envied girl in high school. When she spoke, her words resounded off her tongue like a kitten purring. Her hypnotic purr and cherub rosebud lips lured you in, until she drifted away and the magic spell was broken. It was almost agonizing to resist the urge to reach out and stroke her long, golden hair as she passed.

Even those that did not know her still had inborn compulsions to protect rather than see harm come to her. She was indeed an enchanting creature – a temptress. The ancients called her a muse.

So on his first day at school, when Zach was immediately approached by the iridescent Lula to join her elite group that the students had appropriately dubbed the In Crowd, Grace had held her breath unconsciously as she waited openmouthed for his reply.

Grace let out an exaggerated sigh of relief and was completely overwhelmed with joy when Zach declined Lula’s purring invitation and strolled off to mingle with the good-natured "football crowd" instead. She was grateful that she'd not lost him to the tempting, and just too beautiful, students of the 'In Crowd'.

Zach immediately joined the high school football team, ‘The Eagles’, and two weeks later, after the football team passed an uncontested vote, Zach became the new team captain.

Joshua, too, had been equally relieved at Zach’s prompt decision to decline Lula’s invitation.

"Defense force brats", Joshua said as he stood waiting next to Angela and Grace. "Who do they think they are, god damn Royalty or something?"

He couldn’t quite grasp the overwhelming effect that Lula and her group had on the entire school, teachers included. No one, as far as Joshua was concerned, was more beautiful than his Angela. If only he could get Angela to feel the same way about him. However, year after year Angela had continued to show no sign of changing her feelings toward Joshua from being just good friends. The fact that Angela hadn’t shown any feelings toward any other boy either was good enough for Joshua, so he continued his steadfast commitment to pursuing her.

The exclusive assembly of the In Crowd students, whose parents were mostly enlisted in the defense force, did not welcome the likes of Grace and her kind into their sanctimonious cortege. And that suited Joshua just fine. "I don’t get what the big deal is. Who needs them anyway?"

There was another group of students besides the In Crowd who commandeered the halls who drew even more attention to themselves, and they were aptly named ‘The Goths’.

Unlike the dazzled fascination the In Crowd demanded, this motley group of students was feared rather than envied, by students and teachers. They conjured up a different kind of fascination. Their appeal was one of darkness, corruption, and deceit, drawing you in slyly toward the dark shadowy promises until there was nowhere left to go.

The cougar-like leader of this sinister coven was also a 17-year-old beauty. However, it was evil that radiated from her yellowish cat-like eyes, and a contemptuous bile of hostility that rolled off her tongue at those foolish enough to get in her way. And if any were foolish enough to stumble across Theria’s path uninvited, regardless of creed, well, the future never looked too bright for those unfortunate souls.

Theria leaned against the tall grey lockers and blew a puff of smoke in Zach’s face as he strolled past her in the hall. He merely dismissed her futile bid to catch his attention and chatted on with his friends, unaffected by her attempts. She, on the other hand, did not dismiss him. Far from it. She had been dissecting him, appraising him, considering him since his arrival at the school. To Theria, Zach looked like a shiny red apple dangling tantalizingly from a very low tree branch, perfectly ripe to the touch and ready to be plucked. She could imagine the juice running off her chin as she bit into his delectable flesh.

A sallow-looking boy with spiky black hair, dressed completely in black, grabbed her forcefully by the waist and spun her around. "Hey babe, you got a hard-on for the newbie?"

"Piss off, Caleb," she spat, shoving him back into the metal lockers with a flick of her wrist. The metal doors buckled under a crashing impact that would have proven fatal to any human body.

"Okay, okay, no need to pitch a fit, bitch," Caleb retorted, angrily pulling himself out of the dent in the locker. He snatched the cigarette from her fingers and pulled the burning chemicals into his lungs.

Caleb was very pretty for a boy, even with the customary gothic paraphernalia that adorned his body and studded his face.

Moments later, a waif-like girl with ink-black hair slashed with streaks of red stalked up, joining them. She, too, was dressed in the blackest black and wore heavily applied black makeup on her chalky-white skin. On her right temple she had a curling tattoo, and a black teardrop spilled out of her yellow cat-like eye.

"Hey Lyssa," Caleb said through a haze of grey smoke, "cigarette?"

Lyssa was escorted by a tall boy and was dwarfed by his imposing stature. She raked her long, black-painted nails through her waist-length hair. "Lose the fag, moron, if you want to stay out of trouble," she drawled to Caleb. "Miss Bell is on sentry duty again today." She leaned back and rested on the cold metal lockers. "I reckon that crazy bitch would have been Hitler’s Nazi whore in a past life."

Caleb scoffed, "Do I look like I give a shit about Miss Bell, or trouble?" He wrapped his arm around Lyssa’s tiny waist, and dragged her into him, away from the tall, silent boy with hair the color of burnt honey.

Caleb planted a hard kiss on Lyssa’s black-stained lips, then flicked the cigarette butt at the back of a group of passing students. The burning butt cartwheeled through the air before striking a tall blond boy in the back of the head. The boy spun around with his fists up, eager to thump the butt-flicking assailant. However, when he saw who the perpetrator was, he lowered his fists and his head and trailed off in the wake of his friends.

"Yeah, I’d keep going, too, if I were you," Caleb called out. "You pumped up gym-junky pile of bat-shit."

Caleb, bored with his victim, returned his focus to the taller boy beside Lyssa. "Damon, got anything on tonight?" he asked. "We’re thinking about heading down to the beach, smoke some weed, hit on a couple of bitches, get a feed, maybe. Lyssa can usually herd up a couple of chicks that are ready to get down and get dirty. Sound cool?"

"Not tonight, busy. Another time maybe..." Damon answered him absently.

"Yeah sure, another time," Caleb replied. His attention drifted to Miss Bell, the advancing teacher.

Miss Bell strode along the corridor, arms swinging rigidly by her side. Her step faltered as she spotted the Goths eyeing her. Then she put her head down and marched quickly past them. But not before Caleb grabbed his crotch and called out to her retreating figure. "Hey Miss Ding-a-ling, want a mouthful of this junk? Hey, don’t rush off, babe; I’ll be the best you’ve ever had. I promise. You tell her, Theria. Oh come on, Miss, you’re breaking my heart here." Then he chuckled, snapped his head back, and howled like a ravenous jackal at a hollow moon.

Faintly, from somewhere outside, the howl of a dog echoed up through the school corridor as if in answer to its master’s call.

For a moment, all the students turned and held their breaths. Mouths gaped open as they stared at Caleb howling to his imaginary moon. Then they abruptly composed themselves, and scattered away quickly into classrooms to avoid any possible reprisals.

Theria, who had been leaning quietly against the set of lockers, pushed herself upright and glared at Caleb. "Idiot," she hissed. "Way to stay off the radar, Caleb. Come, it’s time to get out of here." She strode down the hall, students parting eagerly to let her ominous clan pass unencumbered.

"You worry way too much, Theria. These humans are nothing more than scurrying ants beneath my feet. Powerless, insignificant piss-ants." He pulled a face then licked his lips at a blonde girl as she watched him pass. "You and me, sweetheart," he said.

The girl didn’t flinch or turn away as the other students usually did. This girl held his gaze and whispered back. "Bring it on, bitch."

Caleb’s jaw dropped for a split second, revealing his surprise before he quickly recovered and snapped it shut. Lyssa, not having the same ability to read minds as Caleb, tugged at his arm, diverting his attention momentarily away from the blonde girl. "Tell me…" she asked impatiently, tugging at his arm. Caleb, intrigued by the blonde girl’s unwavering response, ignored Lyssa for a moment before answering.

"Cindy, what the hell are you thinking?" A brunette standing meekly at the blonde girl's side asked in a hushed voice.

"We’re in a new town, a new school. I just want to shake things up a bit, Em. I feel like we’ve been living in a cocoon, wrapped in cotton wool. Don’t you want to, oh, I don’t know, break out a little?" she asked the shorter girl as she pulled her backpack onto her shoulders.

Emily, Cindy’s twin sister, shook her head. "I don’t know, Cin; they look like trouble to me."

"Yeah, well it takes more than freaky contact lenses, tatts, and a few eyebrow piercings to frighten me. Anyway I could use a bit of trouble, couldn’t you?" Cindy whispered as she watched Caleb take another quick look at her over his shoulder. She smiled back and winked.

"No," Emily said. "Absolutely not."

"Oh come on, Em, live a little". She put her arm around her sister’s shoulders. "I think I’m going to really like this school a whole lot better than that holier-than-thou all girls’ school in Sydney. God, I hated that place." She shoved her locker closed and readjusted her backpack.

A school siren rang.

"Come on Em, let’s get to class. Make a good impression and all that on our first day."

Emily groaned and trailed off after her taller, thinner, prettier sister. "Promise me you won’t do anything crazy, Cin."

"When have I ever?" Cindy began.

Emily sighed. "When have you never?" Then Emily covered her mouth and giggled as she watched a boy in a football jersey, who had been staring at Cindy, collide with an open locker door. She wished she could turn heads the way Cindy did by just walking down a corridor. "That will teach him to look where he’s going."

Cindy turned around and frowned at her sister. "What are you laughing at?"

Emily shook her head. "Nothing Cin, Oh look, this must be our classroom."

A pretty history teacher with long, flowing black hair smiled and ushered them into the room. "Hi girls, welcome to the class. I’m Miss Raphael, but you can call me Ambrosia. Now, which one are you?" she asked, addressing the taller girl first.

The empty corridors grew quiet now as the last classroom door slammed shut. It was just Theria and her devout followers who haunted the long white corridors lined with grey metal lockers spotted with graffiti, stickers and flyers. Only the droning hum of the air-conditioning, muffled voices, and the screech of a chair being scraped along the floor behind closed doors broke through the eerie silence of the usually noisy corridor.

Theria glanced back over her shoulder and glared at Caleb. She spoke to him in a tone so highly pitched that it was inaudible to the human ear. It was their preferred way of communicating with each other when in the vicinity of humans. It provided them with the perfect cover from enemy and human alike. Not that Caleb cared. He relished all forms of attention, and basked gloriously in the risks that followed.

Theria’s matt black lips were virtually unmoving as she spoke her words of warning. "Don’t underestimate the humans, Caleb. If you knew anything about ants, you would know that there are some species of ants that are capable of carrying 100 times their own body weight. I would keep that in mind if I were you."

But Caleb was far from interested in being educated in the abilities of ants. His attention was focused on the exquisite thoughts in the blonde girl’s head. He felt almost inclined to blush on her behalf. But instead he leaned down and whispered in Lyssa’s ear. "I found one."

Then he felt something else that was so foreign to him that it shocked him. He scraped his fingers through his long spiky fringe, trying to recognize the irritating feeling. But he couldn’t. For the first time in his life, a lifetime that had spanned centuries, he felt regret. The word was as foreign to him as was its meaning.

Lyssa glanced up at his worried expression, "What is it Caleb?" she asked, almost tenderly.

He ignored her for a moment and just shook his head as he tried to comprehend his feelings. He realized that he had regretted telling Lyssa about the girl. He would have preferred to keep her to himself for a while. Just until the newness of her had worn off. "Nothing," he lied, grateful for the first time that Lyssa did not possess the ability to hear his thoughts.

Theria let a low growl escape through her clenched teeth. "I’m warning you, Caleb. You keep making these bloody messes and there will be hell to pay. You have made way too many sloppy mistakes lately, you risk exposing us all."

A classroom door thrust open and slammed hard against the wall. "Jesus Christ," Mr Bowen bellowed as he came staggering out of the classroom clawing at his ears like a madman.

Caleb opened his mouth, about to speak.

Theria snapped around in a blur and grabbed his throat, her long black nails puncturing his pallid skin. "I’m warning you Caleb, don’t push me," she snarled. "Because I promise you, you will not like how this will end."

Mr Bowen came to a halt and continued to rub his ears. The classroom behind him erupted into howls of laughter.

"Jesus, crap, mother of God. What is wrong with these frigging things?" he growled, digging a hearing aid out of his ear, then abruptly stopped and looked at Theria and her pack. "What’s going on here?" he demanded. "Get yourselves to class, or I’ll send you all to the principal's office!"

Theria cocked her head and stared at the new teacher in front of her almost apologetically. And then, without a sound and with only her lips moving, she said in her high pitched frequency, 'why of course, sir.'

"Christ, shit, crap!" the man screeched again, scraping the second hearing aid from his burning ear. Then he threw them on the ground, cursing and stomping on them.

He looked up seconds later to find himself standing in the deserted corridor. He turned around and looked down to the other end of the corridor, but Theria and her followers were long gone. He sighed and looked down to the ground at his feet. His hearing aids were smashed into a hundred tiny pieces on the floor. "Shit."

CHAPTER 10 – With Me Always

"You need to feed, Theria," Caleb said to her back as they followed her out of the air-conditioned school building and into the stark sunlight. "You’re starting to turn into a real pain in the arse, and you used to be fun. And if you don’t keep your energy levels up, you won’t be any use to any of us, let alone yourself."

Lyssa joined in. "Caleb is right, Theria, what’s going on with you? When was the last time you fed? You can’t keep fasting like this, it’s not natural."

"I know what I’m doing," Theria snarled angrily. Then she cocked her head and listened, but not to them. Her thoughts were now elsewhere. She could hear a voice coming from the beach below. A drunk, she surmised by his stumbling uncoordinated movements. Someone safe, she thought. Someone who would not be missed. It was the sight of the new boy, Zach, that had her thinking about the urges she had successfully learnt to suppress. Maybe just one wouldn’t hurt, she told herself. It had been a while, after all. And the others were right; she did need to keep her strength up. Even Abaddon had noticed her weakness on her last visit home.

Theria continued to lead them through the school car parking lot and toward the sheer cliff face overlooking the ocean. She noticed an eagle soaring high overhead, peering down at her. The majestic wedge-tail eagle, the Aquila audax, was gracefully riding the rise and fall of the air currents above the vast stretch of white sand, rocky outcrops and ocean. Your size is no threat to me here, eagle, Theria thought to herself smugly. At seeing Theria from his lofty vantage point, the eagle let out a lone squawk that was quickly carried away by a sultry current of air.

Lyssa continued. "Look, I get that you didn’t want to be 13 forever, but you’re what, 17 now in human years? So what’s stopping you, don’t you miss it? God, I would be starving now if I were you."

"Why aren’t you four in class?" Mr Munroe, the gym teacher, demanded as he climbed out of his car. He threw a half-finished cigarette butt on the ground and crushed it out with the heel of his shoe. He exhaled a stream of caustic smoke into the air and moved toward them. He reached out and seized Lyssa’s arm when the group made no signs of stopping or responding to his question.

Three bodies spun around in unison.

"Why aren’t you in class?" Caleb growled in a deep guttural voice that reverberated from his throat as he prepared to lunge at Lyssa’s assailant.

"No!" Theria snapped as she darted in between Caleb and the teacher.

Damon grabbed Caleb’s arms and restrained him.

Caleb shook him off. "Okay, back off... I won’t hurt him. Not yet, anyway."

Mr Munroe’s tall muscular frame suddenly stood frozen to the spot. Only his unblinking eyes shot back and forth between with absolute horror. Then panic gripped him when he realized he was unable to move at all. He tried to part his lips, to scream. But his voice was nothing more than a pathetic whimpering sound.

Lyssa looked down at his long fingers circling her arm as if she was examining something repulsive. "You are going to be so sorry you did that, Adam," she said, smiling up at him. She uncurled his fingers one by one from her arm. Then she ran her fingers tantalizingly through his lank brown hair. "I’m going to break every finger on your freaking hand, Adam, and then I’m going to break your frigging neck and rip your beating heart out. What do you think about that? Oh, and Adam, I’m going to enjoy every single second of it."

"No," Theria said. "Too dangerous..."

"Oh come on, Theria," Lyssa moaned, "he started it. You started it didn’t you, Adam, you tell her you did." She reached up then and kissed him firmly on his trembling lips before biting into them. A trickle of blood ran down his chin.

"No!" Theria repeated, angry this time.

"For god’s sake, Theria, what is wrong with you? This is what we do!" Lyssa shouted.

"Theria is right," Damon said. "Too risky, we’re out in the open here. It would draw too much attention."

"As much as I don’t like to say it, Lyssa," Caleb said. "Theria is right. You know the rules, not on school grounds-"

"He wouldn’t be on school grounds if I threw him over the cliff, finished him off down there," Lyssa said, pointing toward the edge of the cliff face.

"Hmm," she does have a very valid point, Theria," Caleb said, considering Lyssa’s proposal. "I like it. And this part of the beach is so secluded. No one would see anything from up here. Actually, I’m surprised we haven’t considered this section of the beach before."

Theria still had the man paralyzed when he started to convulse. She glared at the teacher and tried to ignore the distracting sounds coming from his throat as he gasped for air. She looked away and continued to contemplate his fate, then glanced up toward the school buildings, scanning the rows of classroom windows for any sign of witnesses.

The man started to heave, but did not have the necessary strength to vomit. Blood streaked down his cheek from his left eye. That was Lyssa’s doing. She smiled, pleased with her handiwork. She liked the way blood pulsated, then oozed from the eye sockets of her victims. She found it captivating, artistic even. She traced her finger through his blood and drew curling patterns on his face.

"Do you hear anything, Caleb?" Theria asked.

"Nothing out of the ordinary, no one has seen," Caleb said, glaring at the man.

The teacher let out a loud squealing sound like a cornered pig.

Caleb glared at him. "I swear to god, if you don’t shut the hell up I’ll -"

"You can release him now, Theria, I can take it from here," came the smooth velvety voice of the school’s student councilor. Siena seized the man’s chin in her hand. Long yellow talons grew and curled around his chin. Her brown eyes changed into yellow slits as she appraised him. She pushed Lyssa’s fingers away and dabbed the man’s cheek with a tissue, wiping away his blood. Her talons slowly withdrew and her eyes returned to brown.

Siena continued. "The four of you really should be more careful. You know the rules. They are in place for our own protection. What would you have done if there had been others around to witness this, kill them all?"

Siena eyes burned deep into the teacher’s frantic ones. "Breathe, idiot. Or do you want to die?"

He bent down and put his hands on his knees to steady himself then gasped for air in long, tortured gulps.

"If need be," Lyssa answered with the tone of a spoilt child. "I would kill them all if I had to. And I’d enjoy it!"

"Don’t be absurd, we have these rules for a reason, Lyssa." Siena scolded. "So no one has seen, then?" She turned and looked at Caleb.

"If anyone has, they aren’t thinking about it," he drawled. His mind shifted to focus on the blonde girl, Cindy, again. She was still thinking about him as she doodled on the front cover of her exercise book. He liked that. That she was still thinking about him and not paying attention to the ancient history book Miss Raphael was reading out loud from.

"Okay, if you are sure, then, I will take care of him," Siena said, wiping away the last traces of blood from Adam's face. She ushered him quickly out of the car park and back toward the school's administration block.

"Adam," Siena purred, "I am having trouble moving some furniture in my office. I wonder if you would be kind enough to give me a hand."

"They…what, she…did you see…I couldn’t…you?" he blabbed incoherently in between labored breaths.

"Pull yourself together, Adam. Nothing happened here, you just saw four students putting some boxes in the car for me, do you understand?"

He nodded mutely in between gulps of the salty sea air.

She continued. "They are good kids, helping me out like that, wouldn’t you say?"

"Yes they are." He agreed. "Not too many kids these days happy to help out."

"That’s right. Now, how about you forget all about that and come with me. I don’t know about you but I could really use a cold drink, this humidity is murderous, don’t you think?"

"Yeah. Bloody hot, that’s for sure. It’s been one hell of a killer wet season." He pushed his finger into his left eye socket and rubbed it profusely. "Damn it. I think a bug must have flown in my eye… stings like shit, too."

"Really, let’s get you inside where it's cool and I’ll take a look at it for you," Siena said, guiding him along by his elbow. It looks like you’ve split your lip too. That happened during a game, didn’t it," she continued. "Squash, wasn’t it? I hear you play a pretty mean game."

"Yeah, split my lip during a game of squash. You play?" he asked.

"Oh, no. Not me. I’ve always been more of a spectator. I would love to watch you play sometime though."

"Would you really?" he asked, surprised that she had even noticed him. He had noticed her, of course. All the male teachers had. Siena was gorgeous.

"I would love to, Adam." Siena cooed.

Adam stumbled as he caught his foot on the step leading up into the school building.

"Whoops," Siena said, putting her arm around Adam to steady him. "Careful, can’t have you falling over and breaking your neck on school grounds, now can we."

He chuckled. "You know, I’ve always thought about asking you out to dinner sometime."

"Really? Well, that would be lovely. And you know… I just happen to be free this weekend," Siena said, tightening her grip around Adam. "But let’s keep it just between ourselves, okay? School politics and all that nonsense."

"Sure," he lied. He was going to brag like hell to all the other male teachers the first chance he got.

Siena, sensing his lie, grabbed him squarely by the shoulders and looked him in the eye. "You will not tell anyone about our arrangements, Adam."

He nodded. "Tell no one."

"Very good, Adam. Now let me take a look at that eye."

The four watched as Siena led Adam into the building, the glass door closing silently behind them.

Lyssa let out a groan. "I was looking forward to a midmorning snack. What a waste."

"Not a waste." Caleb replied. "Siena is making plans with him now to go out and have dinner with him this weekend." He chuckled and coiled his arm around Lyssa’s waist. "Little does he know that he’s on the menu."

"There is someone else." Theria interjected, glancing back toward the cliff.

"Oh," Caleb announced dryly. "Our little Theria has got her appetite back. Do lead the way," he said.

"Who, where, when?" Lyssa babbled excitedly.

"After you, Theria," Caleb said, gesturing with his hand.

The four of them stalked over to the edge of the cliff face and peered down, following the line of Theria’s outstretched finger. "See, down there," she said, smirking.

Amongst the rocks at the bottom of the high jagged cliff face, a homeless man sat propped up against a boulder, swigging on a bottle of bourbon in a torn brown paper bag.

Theria jumped down first, and landed gracefully on her feet beside the man. He looked up at her in shock, then grinned.

"Wazza purdy little thing like you doin down here, shouldn’t you be in class? Wanna join an old man in a drink, Princess?" He shuffled across his rock, making room for her beside him, and then brushed the sand away with his twisted, arthritic fingers.

Suddenly Lyssa landed effortlessly on her feet on the right of him.

"Hell, girl, where the blazes did you come from?" He looked from one girl to the other. "Not that I’m complaining. It must be my lucky day. Two beautiful angels fell from heaven to have a drink wid an old man. Woo Hoo!" Then he started singing. "Heaven must be missin an angel. Two angels," he chuckled, correcting himself. "Come on, get a load off, have a drink," he said, thrusting the bottle toward Theria. Lyssa had bent down and was sniffing him. She screwed up her nose. "Oh well, they all smell the same on the inside." She studied him then jabbed her finger into his chest. "You’re a tough old soldier aren’t you," she said, noticing the war medals pinned to his faded khaki jacket.

Caleb watched the interaction from the top of the cliff. "After you," he said to Damon.

Damon shook his head. "I’ll wait up here, keep an eye out. Maybe go check on Siena."

Caleb shrugged. "No worries, more for us." Then he held his arms out, leapt feet first off the cliff face and glided downward, landing between Theria and Lyssa.

"Hey, man, this is my party. You go find ya own," the old man slurred as he kicked his worn, boot-clad foot out at Caleb.

Long yellow talons began to protrude from their fingernails. Caleb’s first, then Lyssa’s and Theria’s.

"What the hell is goin on here, man?" he asked, struggling to push himself up off the ground with one hand, the other still clutching the bourbon bottle firmly around the neck. Amber fluid spilled out of the bottle and onto the sand. "Now look what ya made me do, ya little shit!"

Theria grabbed the man around his throat and lifted him effortlessly up off the ground. Her talons ripped deep into his wrinkled flesh. His blood-curdling cry was quickly extinguished as she squeezed his throat tighter. His eyes rolled back grotesquely into unseeing sockets, exposing just the whites of his eyes. He struggled and shook violently in an effort to break free. His free hand scraped at Theria’s hand in a vain attempt to loosen her stronghold grip. He let go of his grasp on the bottle, letting it fall to the ground below his dangling feet. The glass bottle crashed on the rocks and exploded into shards of razor sharp pieces of glass. Urine ran down his dirty trouser leg, over his boot and mixed with the bourbon seeping quickly into the dry sand.

A shimmering bright arc of electricity crackled up through Theria’s talons, making the blood vessels in her arms and throat glow black as she drained the living soul out of this man’s body. His legs jerked spasmodically and fell still. She bit into him then, and drank from his veins. The warm blood and raw flesh were pungent and sweet on her tongue. She had missed this, she thought, as she satisfied her hunger.

Lyssa and Caleb joined in. Their talons tore through his clothing and sliced into him, draining him of the last of his soul. Then they, too, bit into him and drained him of his remaining blood. Then fed on him like hungry beasts, tearing the flesh from his bones. A trickle of blood oozed from his torn, lifeless limbs, pooling with the urine and alcohol that were swiftly being absorbed by the sand.

This man’s life, for better or for worse, was over. Every living experience learnt during this soul’s lifetimes, good and bad, would now be forever lost.

A son working in a remote Queensland medical clinic would never know what had become of his father. His father had been a hero, saving the lives of soldiers during a war fought in the dense jungles of Vietnam.

He had been equipped to fight those enemies, the Vietcong, before a bullet tore through his chest and sent him home on a stretcher in 71. However, these enemies were spawned by a being so evil that they were impossible to comprehend or defeat. No human was prepared for this enemy, no matter how strong.

Caleb wiped the man’s blood off his mouth and picked up a brown leather wallet that lay on the ground beside one of the man’s dirty old boots. He flipped the wallet open. Lyssa peered over Caleb’s shoulder and read the name on the expired driver's license. "James Holiday. Born January the first, 1945."

"Get rid of it. Toss it in the ocean, Caleb," Theria said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, her overdue appetite satisfactorily quenched.

Caleb flicked the wallet out of his hand and watched as it skipped across the surface of the water before falling open. A dog-eared photograph of a boy and his father blew out of the wallet and floated on the gentle rise and fall of the ocean waves. Rays of the morning sunlight reflected off the water, illuminating the old photograph for one last time before father and son began their final descent into the dark watery abyss below.

A swarm of fanatical ants, along with an artillery of leisurely moving hermit crabs, maneuvered their way over the remains of James Holiday's torn and broken body. Too slow, Theria mused. "Caleb," she said. "Call in your beasts to clean up this mess."

"Of course," Caleb said as he let a blood-curdling howl escape from his lips. Further down the tree-lined beach sounded a howling reply as two, and then five beasts began pounding their way along the beach toward them. A blast of powdery white sand erupted from the impact of their massive paws as they ran.

By the time the beasts arrived at their destination to destroy any remaining evidence of the brutal massacre, Theria, Lyssa and Caleb had spirited along the beach in the opposite direction, and had all but vanished.

A small group of friends dressed in blue nurse's uniforms sat around a long patio table, laughing.

A man stood. "Well, that was a hell of a shift, and I for one am glad it’s over. Anybody else need a refill while I’m up?" he asked, as he pushed himself up from the table.

Various requests were made, but the man did not respond, did not move.

"Mike, you okay? A woman asked, touching his arm softly. She frowned, "Mike?" she asked again. But he didn't hear her voice. It was a man’s voice that he heard, urgent and demanding.

"Run, run, run Mikey!" a man’s voice called out.

So Mikey ran. He ran as fast as his legs would carry him. His chest heaved as he dragged in breaths between clenched teeth. His heart pounded loudly in his ears. He looked around to see someone close behind him. Too close, he thought, so he ran even faster. He ran so fast the muscles in his legs burned. Further back he saw more closing in.

"Come on, Mikey, run!"

He put his head down and ran, only ten meters to go, he could do it. He turned around again; the gap between them was getting smaller. He ran harder, faster. He could see the line drawing closer. He threw his arms up in the air as he crossed the line. He had done it! The crowd cheered and clapped. He stopped still for a moment as they put a ribbon around his neck. His chest heaved as he pulled air into his lungs. Then he ran over to a man wearing an Australian army uniform. He was smiling and clapping the loudest.

"I won, Dad!" the boy whooped, grinning up at his father.

"That’s my boy," the uniformed man said kneeling down to his son. "I knew you could do it, Mikey, you’re my little champion!"

"Can I take your picture for five dollars, Mr Holiday?" a young girl asked. "We’re raising money for new sports equipment."

"Sure thing," the man replied standing up and putting his arm around his son, his face awash with pride.

A bright flash as the instamatic camera lens captured the picture of a man and his son. The camera whirred, and seconds later a square piece of hard paper rolled out into her hand.

She fanned the white cardboard square in the air. "Won’t be long, Mr Holiday, it’ll just take a second," she said, fanning it some more until colors, then faces began to appear. "That’s a great picture, Mr Holiday. You look very handsome in your uniform," she said, handing him the photograph.

"That’s a beauty," he said, showing the photograph to his son. He took a five-dollar note out of his wallet and handed the money to the girl.

"Thanks, Mr Holiday," the girl said pocketing the money before wandering off toward other parents with their children.

The man slipped the photograph into his wallet and returned it to his breast pocket. "I will keep it with me always," he said to Mikey. "Right here." He patted his breast pocket. "You will be close to my heart, always. Come on, let's go grab something to eat, the sausage sizzle smells great, you hungry, Son?"

"Mike?" The woman’s voice was more urgent now. "What is it? Are you okay?"

Mike shook his head. "Yeah, sure, I’m fine. I was just remembering a time with my Dad, years ago, a school sports day, just before Dad left for the war in Nam. I have no idea why that just popped into my head. I haven’t seen him or spoken to him since I was a kid. When he got back from the war he was kind of messed up. He took to the bottle, wouldn’t talk to anyone. Mom said he was never the same after that. It was as if he just flicked a switch, turned himself off, shutting us and the rest of the world out. About a year later he took off, and I never saw him again." He shook his head. "Sorry about that. Now, who said they needed a refill?"

CHAPTER 11 – First Kiss

Grace woke with a jolt. She rolled over and looked at the glowing face on her clock. She sighed. It was three-thirty in the morning. She had been dreaming, a running dream with lots of screaming voices... More of a nightmare, she decided. But as soon as her eyes sprung open, the images in her mind vaporized, leaving her with little memory of what the nightmare had been about. She hated that. As much as she hated her nightmares, she still preferred to remember them. Just in case they held a clue to the question that had been bugging her the most lately. Who is Juliette?

She had tried to go back to sleep, tried to pick up the dream where she had left off, but it wasn’t to be. Not this morning. All she had accomplished was twisting herself up in her bed sheets. At five-thirty, she eventually gave up all hope of sleep, and dragged herself out of her crumpled bed and into the kitchen to boil the kettle. A few minutes later she heard a tapping on the kitchen window. For a few seconds, she stood frozen to the spot, listening. Then she heard the tapping again and edged forward, pushing the curtains slowly apart and peering out hesitantly into the dark. She jumped back when she saw a face staring back at her.

"It’s just me!” Angela said, with her face pressed up against the window.

Grace let out her breath. "Don’t do that, you scared the hell out of me," she whispered, making sure not to wake Kate or Zach. "Go around the front and I’ll let you in."

"Morning," Angela whispered cheerfully as Grace unlocked the door to let her in. "I saw the kitchen light come on... you couldn’t sleep either, I take it?"

Grace shook her head and shoved strands of her disheveled hair behind her ear. "I’ve been awake since three-thirty. What about you?"

"More nightmares?" Angela asked.

Grace nodded. "I can’t remember much of this one, though. All I can really remember doing is running like hell, lots of screaming. And fires, fires all around me, burning everything in sight."

Angela dragged over a small plastic stool and stepped up onto it. She reached up and retrieved two coffee mugs from the kitchen cupboard. She then busied herself fetching milk and adding coffee granules to the mugs. "I’ve been up since three-thirty, too. No nightmares, though," she added.

"Did you check it?" Grace asked as she watched Angela pour the milk to the mugs.

Angela nodded. "Of course, I have been around you and this house long enough now to know to check the milk."

As soon as the kettle hinted at squealing, Grace plucked it off the element and poured the boiling water into the mugs. She inhaled a long, slow smell of the rising steam from the mug. "God, that smells good." She looked at Angela and frowned. "You’re dressed early."

"Yes," Angela replied. "I didn’t see any point going home, only to come back again. Zach is still taking us to school, isn’t he?"

"Yep, sure is. What about your parents?"

"I left a note on the fridge for them," Angela replied, following Grace over to the kitchen table.

"You two are awfully quiet this morning. Bad night’s sleep?" Zach asked as he turned his four-wheel drive into the school parking lot. "Normally I can’t shut the two of you up long enough to get a word in edgeways. Boys, hair, shoes, Lady GaGa…" Then he let out a chuckle. "Correction," he said, glancing at Grace who was sitting in the front passenger’s seat, playing with her mobile phone. "I can’t normally shut you up, Grace. Angela, on the other hand…"

There was a loud crashing noise on the hood of Zach’s car. He whipped his head around and slammed his foot hard on the brakes.

The sudden halt forced Grace to reach out and brace herself on the dashboard with her free hand.

Angela’s head snapped up out of the book she was reading in the back seat. Her violet eyes, as wide as saucers, darted around until she found the culprit.

Theria stood in front of the car and stared at Zach through the windscreen. "You really should watch where you are going, Zach. Don’t want any accidents on school grounds, do you?"

Zach just shook his head at her as she smirked at him and sashayed away to join Caleb and Lyssa, who were leaning against the brick wall of the school building, waiting for her.

"What is her problem?" Zach asked, pulling the car into a parking space.

Grace just looked at him with astonishment. "Really?" she asked. "You really don’t know what her problem is?"

Zach pulled the keys from the ignition. "No idea, other than the fact that she’s-" he hesitated and glanced at Angela in the rear view mirror.

"What is she?" Grace asked.

Zach shoved the door open and stepped out of the car. "She’s a … crazy," he said, avoiding Grace’s curious stare.

"Well I don’t doubt that," Grace said, shaking her head. But that isn’t the only thing…"

Zach looked at her and frowned. "Grace, what do you know about Theria?" he asked, opening the back door for Angela, then proceeded to help her down with her bag, heavy with books.

"She’s totally into you, stupid; she’s crazy about you, Zach. She watches you all the time, how could you not notice?" Grace got out of the car, dragging her backpack after her and shutting the car door. "God, you guys are thick sometimes. Hey look, there’s Joshua. Josh, over here," she called out, waving her hand above her head to attract his attention. "Josh burned me a Pink CD last night…" Grace started toward him. "Thanks for the ride, Zach. Meet you back here after school, okay? Come on, Angela. Josh’s got one for you, too."

"Oh, how delightful," Angela replied in mock enthusiasm, then: "You know there is a law against that, don’t you? It’s called pirating, and there are fines up to-"

"Yes Angela, I know… I saw the leaflet you printed out and left on my bed."

"Well, little good that did," Angela replied, following Grace.

When the first bell sounded, Grace and Angela were being jostled down the hallway and into the math classroom with a flurry of other students. Everyone was chatting noisily, narrating various stories from the weekend. Grace followed behind Angela and tried unsuccessfully to block out the babble of noisy gossip that normally would have held her attention. Usually, she would have been only too happy to listen with interest, but not today. The jumbled voices only agitated her fraying nerves, and the pounding headache brought on by the sudden jolt in Zach’s car to avoid hitting Theria in the car park.

Two new girls had just moved in next door to Sonndra Kalee, they were from a private girls’ school in North Sydney. They came from a filthy rich family, and both their parents drove matching black Porsches. Then there was Clair Aldridge, who had gotten drunk on liquor that she had stolen from her father’s secret stash of alcohol in the garage. An hour later she had promptly thrown up all over her boyfriend, Jackson Green, during a party on Saturday night. He had dumped her the next day by text, and was already going out with his new girlfriend, Amber Maddison. The story being spread around the classroom like an out of control flu virus was that there was going to be a fight between Clair and Amber after school, behind the gym.

Grace barely listened; she was starting to become disconcerted by her headache and a tingling sensation at the base of her neck. The tiny hairs on her neck stood up and crackled with electric energy as she ran her fingers across her skin. She moved her head from side to side, trying to dissipate the buildup of nervous tension between her shoulder blades, until something in her peripheral vision caught her attention, and she turned her face slowly toward it. However, it wasn’t a something that had piqued her attention; but someone who had her so mesmerized that her feet had become riveted to the floor.

She watched him as the flow of students continued past her with their animated gestures and stories. She was the silent rock; they were the babbling stream flowing quickly around her.

He was tall and very good-looking, with brown hair, and he oozed charm from every one of his perfect pores. Grace could feel an overwhelming presence about him as he came closer toward her, like the electrified energy she felt just before a thunderstorm. He carried his backpack casually over one shoulder, his head lowered. Was he deep in thought, watching where he was going, or was he just trying to avoid direct eye contact with everyone? Grace wondered. Then his face started to lift. She held her breath. Was he about to look at her? She felt her lips slowly turning upward to form a smile. His eyes were an unusual yellowish color, almost gold. She had never noticed that before. But then again, she had never been this close to him before, either. Then he looked straight at her, through her, as though she had been sculpted out of crystal clear glass and was completely invisible to him. Grace rubbed her arms, making sure she was real. To make sure that this was not another one of her visions - or a dream. No, this was not a dream or a vision. This was real. She was real.

She thought about throwing herself right in front of his path and shouting. It’s me. Look at me. He continued past her without a word. His step faltered though, for just a second, as his shoulder, heavily tattooed with a fiery dragon, brushed her arm and made her gasp. She panicked for a second, and had to stop herself from fleeing breathlessly from the classroom to escape him. What have you done? A voice screamed from somewhere deep down inside her. A vision quickly flashed before her eyes. A raging fire; a boy, his face obscured by thick grey smoke, kneeling and pulling a blade from a dead body lying on the floor before him. Then he stood, spun around, and shouted over the hiss of a raging fire. "No! It isn’t what you think. Stop! Please don’t go…Juliette!"

Angela quickly looked up from behind her book and frowned. "Grace, are you okay? You look like you have just seen a ghost!" Angela followed Grace’s line of vision and saw the boy. She had her answer: Damon Draco. She sighed, walked over to Grace, and gave her a quick nudge with her elbow. "Grace, come on!"

With a jolt, Grace was pulled back from her haunting vision, and followed Angela quickly to their seats toward the front of the class.

"Oh no, yes, I mean… yes, I’m fine," Grace mumbled, tipping her books out of her bag and onto the desk.

"Are you sure?" Angela asked, anxious that she had not perceived Grace’s obvious discomfort.

Grace nodded, "Yes, Angela. I’m fine, really." A sheaf of papers spilled out of her folder and onto the floor by her feet. She swiveled around in her seat to pick them up, but they were already in Damon’s outstretched hand and being offered to her.

The boy was kneeling beside her. "You dropped these," he said, slowly standing.

"Yes. I did. Thank you," Grace said, taking the pages from his hand. She fought the urge to reach out and touch him.

"My name is Damon," he said, shoving his hands quickly into his pockets.

"Yes, I know who you are," Grace replied all too quickly.

Damon looked down at her and tilted his head to the side. "Oh, I seriously doubt that," he said solemnly, as he turned away to take the seat directly behind her.

The classroom door slammed shut, causing Grace to jump in her seat, and silencing the rest of the noisy classroom of students.

"Everyone sit down, now," Mr Valdez said to those still standing. "Open your math books to page 142. I want all your answers from chapters two through to five on my desk by the end of the lesson. You have forty-five minutes. Any questions, means you haven’t read the text correctly, so read it again."

The room fell completely silent except for the sound of pages being turned to Chapter Two.

"Good, now get on with it," Mr Valdez instructed, as he sat down in the chair behind the timber desk. He opened a leather briefcase and removed a paperback novel with a broken, illegible spine. Then he removed his bookmark and began to read.

Grace moaned, shrank down into her seat and opened her textbook to Chapter Two. "God, I hate math," she mumbled under her breath. She rummaged in her bag, found a pen and began to write down answers and tick boxes. But she was not thinking about math as she wrote the answers down the edges of the pages; her mind was completely absorbed with the boy sitting right behind her. If she listened very carefully, she could hear the soft sound of his breathing, almost feel it on the back of her neck.

She glanced around slowly and saw his hand moving his pen effortlessly down the page of his textbook. She imagined what it would be like to hold his hand, feel those perfect fingers entwined in hers. She allowed her mind to wander further still. Her fingers were now combing through his burnt honey hair. She closed her eyes and imagined him leaning across to kiss her on the mouth. The kiss would be perfect, and so tender that she would wonder if she had imagined it. Only his soft breath would remain, lingering on her open lips.

"Alright, time’s up," Mr Valdez shouted, pulling Grace abruptly out of her tantalizing daydream. "Finish up the page you are on and put your books on my desk as you leave," he instructed, shoving his book back into his briefcase.

Grace looked down at her page. There was no way she could have completed even half the questions, but to her surprise all the answers were neatly marked in the boxes on the edge of the page. She let out a sigh of relief and glanced across at Angela, who was busily putting textbooks back in her bag.

Angela met her gaze. "I’ve never seen you answer math questions so fast. Anyone would think that you had some inside help. Anything you want to share, Grace?"

"Nope," Grace answered shrugging and closing her book, "Actually, I’m as surprised as you are." She heard a chair scrape on the floor directly behind her. A moment later, Damon stood rigidly beside her, with his hand held out. She tilted her head back and looked up into his eyes. She thought about her daydream, his hand, the kiss. Surely he wasn’t going to bend down and kiss her, was he? She blinked, then returned her gaze to his outstretched hand and did the first thing that came into her mind. She placed her hand in his, stood up on her toes, and kissed him passionately on the lips.

Damon drew back quickly; he smiled awkwardly, and let go of her hand as though it had suddenly become too hot to hold. "Um... I was just wondering if you would like me to take your book up for you?" he said. "And your friend’s, too," he added, glancing at Angela. "If you would like?"

Grace’s mouth fell open. Her eyes opened wider still as she dropped her hand and fell back on the soles of her feet. She could feel the rush of blood to her cheeks as they burned with mortified embarrassment. She heard hushed voices, then laughing and sniggering from some of the other students. Some wolf whistled and applauded. She fumbled with her book on the table, and pushed it into his hands without looking. "Thank you, that’s very kind of you," she mumbled, falling back into her seat.

Angela said nothing, just a curt nod as she passed Damon her book.

"No problem," Damon said, moving to the front of the classroom to place the books on the pile on the teacher’s desk. He glanced around the classroom at the noisy students, and with just a look, they all fell silent and abruptly scurried from the classroom. Damon put the books on the top of the pile, and walked from the classroom without another glance at Grace.

Mr Valdez, oblivious to what had just occurred, gathered up the pile of books and walked out of the classroom behind Damon.

Grace groaned and let her head drop down on the desk in front of her, letting her forehead bounce gently on the desktop. "Let me die, let me die, let me die…"

Angela looked at Grace, stunned. "What was that all about, what were you thinking?" she asked incredulously. "Or were you not thinking at all?" she added.

Grace turned her face to look at Angela. She let out a sigh as she lifted her head off the desk and shook it. "I have absolutely no frigging idea," she groaned. "But I’ve never felt so humiliated or so embarrassed in my entire life." She buried her burning face in her hands. "I won’t ever be able to look at him again, let alone speak to him."

"Well, then," Angela said, happily patting Grace on the back. "Maybe that is a good thing." She stood up quickly. "Come on, let's go, Josh will be waiting for us downstairs for lunch. And I have suddenly got this huge appetite."

"Well I’ve just lost mine, for eternity, so you are welcome to eat mine, too," Grace offered, dragging herself up off her seat. "And why are you so happy about all of this?"

Angela shrugged. "Don’t worry, Grace, it really isn’t that bad, nothing that can’t be fixed," she replied. "At least you didn’t throw up on him!"

Grace frowned, "I think that would have been a lot less embarrassing than planting a kiss on Damon Draco in front of the whole class. God, what was I thinking?" she moaned.

Angela just nodded, not sure how to respond. "I will meet you in our usual spot, but I’ve got to go to the bathroom first."

"Sure," Grace replied absently. "Whatever." She just hoped that Damon and his friends wouldn’t be anywhere in sight, laughing about what had just happened in class. It was humiliating enough knowing that the rest of the class would be gossiping about her. By the end of the day, God forbid, the entire school would be laughing and talking about her, too. Could this day get any worse, she wondered as she shuffled out of the classroom behind Angela.

CHAPTER 12 – The Cat And The Canary

Grace sat down heavily on the timber bench and waited impatiently for Angela and Joshua to arrive. She dragged her bag off her shoulder and let it drop to the ground between her feet. Any thoughts of food were overshadowed by her feelings of profound dread. She glanced around timidly, looking for the stares that would no doubt be followed by laughter and pointing. The gossip machine would surely be fired up at any moment now, she thought miserably. However, to her surprise, no one appeared to be giving her a second glance. Well, not yet, anyway. She began to relax a little. Maybe it wasn’t going to be as bad as she thought it was going to be.

Then she heard laughter break out from somewhere behind her, and she froze. She planted a stern look on her face and turned reluctantly around, hoping the look on her face would be enough to put a stop to the laughter before it escalated. Anything was worth a try, and she certainly had nothing to lose. But she knew this was just going to be the beginning. This is what she was going to have to get used to until someone else did something even more pathetic than kissing Damon Draco on the mouth in math class.

When she glared at the group of laughing students, to her complete surprise and disbelief, they were not laughing at her but at a girl who was oblivious to the trail of toilet paper that was caught up under her dress and was trailing behind her like the long tail on a kite. Grace smiled, grateful that the laughter had not been directed at her. Then she felt guilty at finding humor in the other girl’s embarrassing predicament. She wondered if the girl would feel similar remorse toward her when she eventually heard that Grace Connors had kissed Damon Draco in class. She shuddered at the humiliating memory and turned away.

"Can I sit with you?"

Grace turned quickly toward the voice.              For a moment she just stared, not sure if she could completely trust what she was seeing. Damon Draco! Don’t panic, don’t panic, she told herself repetitively. She took a quick glance over her shoulder, just to make sure he had in fact been talking to her. "You’re talking to me?" she asked.

"I am. Do you mind if I sit with you?" he asked, indicating the vacant spot on the bench beside her.

Grace was so very rarely alone that he knew he had to take full advantage of this opportunity. He had to make sure, that this was really her.

She shuffled along the bench a little to make room; pushing her bag along awkwardly with her foot. "Um, sure, I guess so. If you really… want to," she stammered.

He sat as far away from her as humanly possible, giving her a cautious sideways glance.

Grace frowned. "You know. If you’re worried about me kissing you again, you really ought not to be, because I’m not going to."

"I’m not worried. I just don’t think it would be a good idea," he said with a stern look on his face.

"Well, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry, it won’t happen again, I can promise you that," Grace blurted.

Damon smirked at her in a mischievous, secretive kind of way, making Grace feel grateful that she had been sitting down.

"Well I hope that is a promise that you won’t mind breaking," he said with a glint in his eye.

Grace returned his smirk with a steely scowl.

Damon chuckled. "Listen, if it makes you feel any better, I didn’t object to you kissing me, not at all, in fact… it was quite nice," he said, smiling at her.

Grace’s mouth fell open. Then, with horror, she could feel her cheeks begin to color and quickly turned away. Was he making fun of her, she wondered?

"Now I feel I should be apologizing to you, Grace. For making you feel so uncomfortable," Damon stood. "I should probably go…"

"No," Grace said, turning back to face him. "I want you to stay, just talk, I mean, if you would like to?"

"I would, very much; I have wanted to speak to you for quite some time," he said, sitting back down, a little closer to her this time. "But I’m worried that it may not be… safe."

Grace felt the hair stand up on the back of her neck, but resisted the urge to reach up and rub her neck. "Safe?" she asked, frowning at him. "How do you mean, safe?"

"Hmm, probably the wrong word. I mean your friends, my friends, I don’t think it would… work," he said, raking his fingers through his hair and glancing around at the other groups of students nearby. His gaze found, and paused on, Theria, Caleb and Lyssa standing over by the far wall of the cafeteria. They had not seen him yet.

"Gum?" Damon asked, producing a stick of chewing gum.

"Sure," Grace answered, taking a piece from the pack. She tore off the paper wrapping, placed the gum in her mouth and began to chew. "Weird taste, what flavor is it?" she asked, trying to read the torn wrapper.

"Mistle-" he began. "Herbal chewing gum," he said. "Do you like it? It is an acquired taste, no sugar."

Grace nodded. "It’s okay, I guess," she replied, studying his face. He looked so confident, tall and so very good-looking, she wished that she could feel like that, confident, and popular. She knew she wasn’t the only one that watched Damon. Most of the girls in school had taken a fancy to him the day he had arrived. All the girls in her class had giggled and fluttered their eyelashes at him when they flocked around him to introduce themselves. She had decided that if Damon had ever bothered to speak to her, she would refrain from all the giggling and fluttering of eyelashes. Grace squirmed; she had done something far worse than giggling. She had stood up and kissed Damon on the mouth. The mouth! She moaned as she relived the humiliation. What had possessed her to do such a stupid thing? Why, the voice in her head asked?

Damon studied her, and then smiled. "This is nice, talking to you like this."

Grace began to relax. "Yeah, it actually is."

Caleb noticed them first, and tilted his head slightly to listen. He frowned and wondered why Grace’s thoughts were so hard to understand. They were coming out of her head in random spits and spurts, a muddle of words and incomplete sentences.

Damon smiled and fought the urge to chuckle when he heard the discussion Caleb, Theria, and Lyssa were having. "The girl is an air-head; I can barely comprehend her thoughts at all," Caleb muttered. "Only the dribble that is coming out of her mouth. Anyone would think she has never spoken to a guy before."

"Your friends," Grace asked, "the Goths…" She stopped herself, wondering if he would find the term offensive.

"Oh, it’s fine. I'm pretty sure they don’t take offense at the title, if that’s what you’re thinking. On the contrary, I think they actually like it," he said, instantly putting her mind at ease.

Damon knew that Caleb could hear the thoughts of every teacher and student in the vicinity clearly. He knew he would have to tread carefully, watch every word. The mistletoe in his veins would not work nearly as effectively as it did in Grace’s. He knew it would be dangerous if Caleb and the others focused their attention too closely on Grace.

"And you, do you find the term offensive?" Grace asked inquisitively.

"Not at all," Damon replied. "I don’t let such things define who I am."

Grace nodded.

'Way to go, Damon, the girl’s gagging for you,' Caleb said silently.

Caleb’s body smashed hard into the brick wall behind him, winding him. He chuckled. 'Clever trick, Damon, you will have to teach me how you do that.'

'Stay out of it, Caleb'… Damon replied silently, knowing that Caleb was reading his mind.

Caleb laughed and relayed the conversation to Theria and Lyssa. "But enough," Caleb said. "This is boring, let’s get out of here." He pushed himself off the wall.

"What about Damon?" Lyssa asked.

"He obviously has other plans with his sweet little human; he’ll catch up when he is ready. Come on," Caleb repeated, pulling Lyssa along after him. "Let’s go."

Theria glared at Damon in warning, reminding him of the rules. 'Not on school grounds,' she instructed in her high-pitched tone as she followed Caleb and Lyssa without another glance at Damon.

Grace, unable to resist the urge any longer, reached up, rubbed the goosebumps on the back of her neck and sighed.

"You alright?" Damon asked. Then he froze as a small trickle of blood ran down Grace’s top lip. He turned his face away quickly from Grace for a split second. 'Cut it out, Lyssa,' he shouted silently with just the hint of movement twisting his lips.

Lyssa flinched at the angry tone of his words, but obeyed. 'God, Damon, I was just having some fun,' Lyssa sulked in silent reply.

'Then go jump off a cliff,' Damon retorted.

He turned back to face Grace. She was staring down at her hand; she had a smear of blood on her index finger and small droplets of blood on her denim skirt.

"Um, you have a nosebleed, here, let me help you." Damon said, taking a tissue out from his pocket. Holding Grace’s chin in his fingers, he gently dabbed her nose and wiped away the blood.

She studied his face as he fussed attentively over her bloodied nose. She wanted to stroke his face, just to make sure he was really human and created with actual flesh and blood. His face was warm and welcoming; his eyes were yellow and mysterious. She thought of a cat and a canary. He was the cat - she was the canary.

He looked into her eyes and held her gaze. She frowned at him, and he felt her chin tremble in his fingers.

"It’s okay," he murmured, trying to reassure her. "I don’t think it's anything serious."

Grace flinched; feeling embarrassed, she took the tissue from his hand. "I can do this." She dabbed the tissue under her nose. "I have no idea how this happened," she said, shaking her head.

"Probably the humidity, it has been very hot," Damon offered in explanation.

"Yes, you are probably right," Grace nodded agreeably.

"You seem fine now though; I think the bleeding has stopped."

"Grace?" Joshua asked in alarm. "What’s happened, why are you bleeding?’

"Yes, why are you bleeding," Angela echoed. "Did he do this?" She asked, glaring at Damon.

"No!" Grace said, jumping to her feet. "I got a bloody nose, that’s all. Damon was just… he gave me this tissue... see," Grace said, holding the tissue out defensively. "Damon. This is Angela and, well, you know Josh, he is in your Gym class," Grace said, momentarily forgetting her bloody nose.

Damon stood and offered his hand. "Angela, it is so nice to meet you."

Angela nodded, "Damon," she replied, ignoring his outstretched hand.

"Joshua, nice to meet you, too," Damon said, taking the hand Joshua offered.

"Likewise, and you can call me Josh. Only these two here call me Joshua. And that's usually when they’re pissed at something I’ve done, or said..."

Damon nodded and released Joshua’s hand, then waited for a moment, trapped in the silence that ensued. "Well, I had better go. It has been nice meeting you all. Grace, I will call you after school, if that’s okay?"

Grace nodded mutely and offered him back the bloodied tissue.

"Oh, thank you, but no," he said, shaking his head. "I think I’ll let you hang onto that…" Then he turned quickly and stalked away, leaving Grace, Angela, and Joshua staring after him. Grace was the only one smiling. Her eyes sparkled with feverish hope and anticipation.

Grace slapped her forehead in frustration. "Jesus, can you believe I just tried to give him back a bloodied …?"

"No, not really," Angela replied. "Why did you do that?"

Grace shook her head. "My brain’s gone completely to moosh."

"I hope you know what you’re doing, Grace," Joshua said, studying her.

Never, in all the years that he had known Grace, had she ever looked as radiant, as beautiful, yet gullible as she did at that moment. He realized that had he not loved her like a sister, he may have had other deeper feelings for her.

Grace said nothing. She had no idea what she was doing.

"She doesn’t have a clue." Angela mumbled under her breath, just as the bell sounded.

"Damon Draco wants to call me. Can you believe it?" Grace said, tossing the bloodied tissue in a garbage can.

"Come on Grace," Angela said, tugging on her arm. "History is up next with Miss Raphael. Your all-time favorite subject," she said, trying to coax Grace away from the Damon Draco dilemma.

Grace let herself be led away to class by Angela and Joshua. She took a fleeting look over her shoulder, hoping for one more glimpse, but Damon had already disappeared. History was the last thing she had on her mind. Her head and heart were in a tailspin and she had already begun counting the minutes until school finished.

The last three classes went excruciatingly slowly as Grace watched the hands on the classroom clock resist each second that passed.

She constructed a plan in her head for the afternoon. She would go straight home after school. No detours to The Coffee Bean for a coffee like she usually did with Josh, Angela and a host of Zach’s footy friends. Yes, straight home so she had time to wash her hair. She ran her fingers through her hair absently. Should she wear it up or down? What should she wear? A pair of jeans, skirt, shorts maybe. She frowned; her shoulders sank down. What if Damon didn’t call her? Doubt began coursing through her veins.

"Oh, don’t worry, he will call you," Angela replied, as though Grace had uttered the words out loud. And then under her breath she mumbled. "This is all we need..."

Joshua frowned. "Well, as much as I don’t like to admit it, he seems okay to me, but I still don’t like his friends, they’re just plain weird if you ask me."

Damon peered out from behind the wall and smiled as he watched Grace being led away by Joshua and the tiny, but far from defenseless, Angela. Winning Angela over, Damon knew, was not going to be an easy task. But then again, he had never thought it would be. He also knew that he would spend the rest of the day thinking about Grace until he saw her again that afternoon. He reflected on how similar she looked now. It was foreign to him seeing her with fair hair; Juliette’s hair was dark. Although he imagined there had been numerous times over the centuries, depending on her nationality, that her hair would have been many different colors and lengths. Grace's eyes were a steely grey, identical to Juliette's. Grace's voice, smell, and the way she looked at him were also identical. The way she had kissed him, that he could never mistake; that was all Juliette.

That was all me. And as the realization of that sank into my being, it stirred memories in me that I had buried such a long time ago; memories of intense passion, devastating heartbreak, and acute sadness. I felt an ominous chill wash over me, and Grace, feeling it, too, held her breath and rubbed her arms vigorously.

"Is it just me, or did it just get really cold in here?" Grace said, shuddering as they walked down the corridor. "I feel like someone has just walked over my grave."

"Come on, Grace," Joshua said, wrapping his arm around her protectively. "Let’s get you to class."

Damon kept watching until Grace had turned the corner into B Block and vanished from his sight. He contemplated changing some of his subjects so that he could be in more of her classes. Now that he had spoken to her, he was finding it almost impossible to stay away. He thought about the kiss again and frowned.

Was he being drawn to Grace, or the memory of me, or both? Had it been Grace that kissed Damon in class, or me? I thought about this. Was it my memory of our life together, centuries ago, that had compelled Grace to stand up and kiss Damon? Was Grace the innocent pawn in a cosmic game of chess that had begun over nine hundred years ago in our ancient world?

Damon flinched; was he reading my thoughts or Grace’s? All he knew was that, after years of searching, this was the closest he had come in over four hundred years to the Juliette he loved. And if there was still a chance I would remember him, he would not let me go.

* * *

Damon felt a sudden pang of guilt; was he being selfish? A question lingered in his mind: am I using Grace to win Juliette? If I stay too close, push too hard, could I be risking her life? He knew the answer was yes. "I made you a promise, Juliette, that I would find you, and remind you of our love. I intend to keep that promise, no matter what." His eyes dropped, and he turned and walked away.

* * *

I am tormented by Damon’s thoughts, his feelings, and his undying love for me. I have loved and lost in so many different ways. And I have died endless deaths. So when I ask myself the question today, who am I? My answer is… I do not know.

CHAPTER 13 – The First Cut

"I just can’t believe how stupid I was," Grace said, dumping her schoolbag on the kitchen table. "The first time that a guy wants to call me, that I really like, and I forget to give him my phone number. How unbelievably moronic is that?" She trudged over to the refrigerator and grabbed the pitcher of water from the fridge door.

"Yes," Angela replied, "that was pretty moronic."

"You’re not helping, Angela," Grace said irritably.

"Oh, don’t worry. He’s going to call you," Angela said, setting two glasses down on the counter.

Grace put down the pitcher and started to sort through a pile of magazines and flyers on the kitchen counter. "Where is it, where is it?"

"It’s over there on the coffee table," Angela said, filling the glasses.

"What is?" Grace asked continuing her search in the bottom kitchen drawer.

"The telephone book that you are looking for; you want to know how many Connorses there are in the phone book, right?"

"Yes," Grace answered walking over to continue her search amongst the pile of magazines on the coffee table.

"There are six Connorses in the phone book," Angela said. "So if he looked you up in the phone book, it wouldn’t take him long to find you."

"If, he looks me up?" Grace asked, flipping the telephone book to the ‘C’s’. She ran her index finger down the long column until she came to Connors. "Connors A, Connors F. Here it is, Connors K, third on the list," she said triumphantly.

"But he won’t do that," Angela said, refilling her glass.

"Why not?" Grace asked, slumping down heavily on the sofa.

Angela frowned. "Because he already has your number."

"Really, how do you know that?" Grace sat up a little straighter; perhaps all was not lost.

"He asked Josh for it."

Grace’s eyes shone. "Were you there? Did Josh tell you that?"

"No," Angela said, handing Grace a glass of water. "Have something to drink, you’re bordering on neurotic."

"Then how do you know that he has my number?"

"Because that is what I would have done," Angela said.

"Well, maybe he isn’t as smart as you. Did you ever think of that?"

"He isn’t," Angela said, sitting down next to Grace. "So I will have to think about it a little longer to come to a definite conclusion."

"How long?" Grace asked, exasperated by Angela’s calmness.

The shrill sound of a phone had Grace scrambling for her backpack.

"Oh my god, do you think that’s Damon calling now?" Grace asked as she rummaged through the contents of her bag. Frustrated, she promptly upended the bag and emptied the entire contents onto the sofa.

Angela sighed. "Sadly, yes, it is Damon. However, you won’t know that for sure until you have answered it." Angela picked up her schoolbag and headed for the door. "I will talk to you tonight, Grace. Do be careful," she said, letting the screen door close quietly behind her. Champsie appeared from under a bush in the front yard, and trotted dutifully beside her.

Grace stared at the phone ringing in her hand.

"It isn’t going to answer itself," she heard Angela call from the front yard.

Glancing down at the dog beside her, Angela said, "Well, Champ, life has just got a whole lot more complicated."

An hour later Grace was pacing the lounge room, waiting. She checked herself in the hall mirror for the umpteenth time and studied her reflection. She knew she was losing all rational thought, that she shouldn’t have such strong feelings for someone she had just met. But she couldn’t help it. It was like something, deep down inside of her was saying that this was the one. Damon was the one.

She ran back to her bedroom and changed the top she was wearing for the third time. She studied herself in the mirror again, holding her hair up in a ponytail. "Yes, better up," she said to her reflection as she fastened her hair up with a clip. "No," she said, shaking her head. "Definitely down." She unfastened the clip and let her hair spill down over her shoulders. She darted over to her wardrobe and began flipping through her clothes until she found a denim skirt. She wriggled out of her jeans, dumped them on the floor, and stepped into the skirt. "That’s better," she murmured.

The doorbell rang. She froze. It would be Damon. She stole another glance at herself in the mirror. It would have to do.

She raced down the hall and stopped, taking a second to compose herself, then walked casually to the front door, wondering now if all those long hours reading magazine articles on boys and relationships were finally going to pay off. "Act cool and casual," she repeated to herself. Apart from that small piece of wisdom, everything else in her mind went completely blank.

She pulled the door open. "Oh hi, Damon, you made it. Is it that time already?" she said, casually looking down at her watch.

"Yes," Damon replied with a fleeting smile lifting the corners of his mouth. "It is that time."

Grace smiled and pushed the door open. "You should come in. Can I get you something to drink?" The perfectly practiced smile on her face was a contradiction to her pounding heart. Damon Draco was in her living room and suddenly the room felt smaller, like the bars of a cage was closing in on her. Nothing else in the room existed, only Damon standing there, towering over her. His cat-like eyes drew her in and slowly devoured every little piece of her. The little canary flapped its wings frantically against the bars of its gilded cage.

She felt giddy, elated, unworthy, frightened, and ecstatic all at the same time. She felt like she was in over her head, surely he would see through her, realize that she wasn’t worth his attention after all. He would make up some excuse as to why he had to go. He had made a terrible mistake. She was the terrible mistake.

Then he spoke. "No, thank you," he smiled. "You look lovely, by the way," he said, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear with his finger. Then he let the back of his hand trail gently down the side of her face.

She gulped. "Thank you," she stammered, praying that he couldn’t hear her heart pounding noisily against her ribcage. "So do you."

"Grace?" he asked.

"Yes." Grace answered in a whisper.

"You’re beautiful," he said with a sudden seriousness to his face.

Her legs felt weak. Any moment now he would realize that he didn’t mean it, and turn and walk away. Of course he would never talk to her again. It would be over before it had even begun.

He sensed her insecurity and smiled. Behind those gray eyes he felt an undeniable connection. But her face betrayed nothing. Had he been wrong? He had wanted so badly for the Juliette he knew to remember him that perhaps he was imagining feelings that were not there.

Grace exhaled and relaxed her shoulders. Up until that moment, she hadn’t realized that every muscle in her body had had her twisted into a tight knot.

Damon took her hand. "So, would you like to go for a walk? I thought along the beach might be nice, before it gets too dark. I’m sure your parents wouldn’t want you home too late."

Grace felt consumed by a sudden sadness. "It’s just me and my Mom. My Dad…" She stopped. "A walk, that sounds nice…"

Damon held her hand a little tighter. "Shall we go then?" He asked. "I have my car parked just outside…" He picked up Grace’s bag and handed it to her. "Shall we?" he asked, prompting her.

"Can you give me just a second? I’ve left my phone in the bedroom. I’ll only be a moment. I need it in case my Mom calls, I left her a message…" shut up, she told herself. Stop talking, just go get the damn phone.

"Sure," Damon said, "I’ll wait."

Grace rushed off to her room. When she got there, she closed the door behind her and leaned against it. She pulled in long slow breaths. She walked to the bed, pushed away the pile of clothes to make a space, and sat down. "Okay, I can do this. He's just a guy. Damon Draco is just a guy," she said, getting up, grabbing her phone from the dresser and heading back to the lounge room.

Back to an empty lounge room.

She looked around the room and then stuck her head around the corner to look into the kitchen. "Damon?" she called out, "I’m ready…"

The room remained silent.

She noticed a piece of paper flapping gently under a glass on the kitchen table. She retrieved it from under the glass. The first thing she noticed was the beautiful handwriting. She read the words. Then she read the words again.

I am so sorry, Grace. I had to go. Will explain tomorrow.

Damon.

Grace sank down into a chair. All she felt was her heart breaking in her chest and the tears running down her cheeks. She screwed up the piece of paper in her hand and threw it at the wall. Of course he left, why wouldn’t he? No one had thought of her as beautiful before, so why should Damon be any different?

The phone rang in her hand; she looked at it. Angela’s name appeared on the illuminated screen. She answered it and listened. "No, Angela, everything is fine, no really, I’m fine. Mom will be home soon anyway, and I’m pretty tired," she lied. And she knew that Angela would know it was a lie, too, but she knew Angela would forgive her. "I’ll see you tomorrow, okay." Grace switched off the phone and walked to her room. She sat down and reached for her music box and wound it up. She opened the lid and watched as the little ballerina twirled along to the melody. Then she lay down on her bed, fully clothed, and cried herself to sleep.

CHAPTER 14 – The Ferryman

They came into the world only moments apart, in the early hours of the 19th of June. Cindy came first, kicking and screaming and demanding everyone's undivided attention. Emily slipped quietly into the world seconds behind her sister, and was placed alongside her at her mother's breast. Emily gazed adoringly into the eyes of her older sibling. Moments later, the elder infant reached out spasmodically and grabbed hold of Emily's hand with her pudgy little fist. Whether it was a predetermined decision on baby Cindy's part, or a random reflex that enticed her to grab hold of her sister's hand, no one will ever know. But she hung onto that little hand as though her life depended on it.

Life hadn’t changed much since that day. There were no similarities whatsoever, though, in their features, temperaments or mannerisms. They were complete opposites in every way imaginable. The only things they had in common, apart from the same birth date, was their parents, their huge bank accounts and the ten-bedroom house they lived in, on East Point Road in Fannie Bay. However, with all their differences, the one true thing that linked them together more than anything else was love. It wasn’t always evident. They still fought on occasions, just as any sisters did. But the defining constant underneath it all was love. Perhaps it was sharing the watery confines of their mother's womb for nearly nine months? But whatever it was, whatever the circumstances, it was this invisible bond that would glue their lives together forever.

Cindy was fair-haired, tall, slim, and perfect, and couldn’t wait to fall in love, get out of school, and travel the world. She wanted to live life to the fullest, drink in all the world had to offer. Cindy wanted it all and she was determined to experience everything at least once. The way Cindy saw it, the world was her oyster, and hers for the taking. She wanted to drive a car. She didn’t particularly care what make or model, as long as it was fast, had a great stereo and was preferably red.

Emily, on the other hand, was a brunette. She was shorter than her sister, had a curvy figure and enjoyed school. She wanted to go to university and study to become a doctor. Her life's goals included getting married, having two kids, a boy and a girl, and a dog named Rover. She would buy a dependable four-wheel drive that was economical on fuel. Emily wanted to save the planet, so recycled everything possible. To the rest of the household's chagrin, Emily insisted that her mother purchase environmentally friendly products.

At school, both girls were considered popular with the other students, and made friends easily. They did what girls their age did. Talked endlessly about boys, well Cindy certainly did most of that. They listened to popular music, bought glossy fashion magazines, watched movies and television, and both girls had a crush on each of the Salvador brothers in the Vampire Diaries. They had posters covering their walls, which bothered their mother no end. They were invited to all the popular parties and friends' sleepovers.

When Caleb swaggered up to Cindy in the hallway after History class had finished, she was ecstatic.

"Cindy, isn’t it?" he asked, standing so close to her that she could feel his breath playing on her cheek as he murmured in her ear.

"Cin," she replied turning to face him, holding his steely gaze.

He narrowed his eyes. "As in the original sin?" he murmured. "So you like to play with fire?" he asked, flirting with her.

"Maybe," she replied, raising an eyebrow. "Who wants to know?"

He ignored her question and asked another. "And who is this little wallflower?" Caleb asked in a sad contemptuous voice, looking down at Emily.

"My name is Emily, and I am not a wallflower!" Emily shot back curtly.

"Oh," Caleb chuckled. "With an attitude like that little one, most would think certainly not." He smiled and tilted his head, listening to her thoughts. "But I beg to differ. And if you were being completely honest with yourself, and everyone else, you would have to agree that your bark is a lot bigger than your bite, little Emily."

"Whatever," Emily said, turning away from him to look at her sister.

"Cin, can we go now, please?" she asked emphatically, with her nails dug into her waist.

"No!" Cindy shot back. "Just wait a second. I won't be long..."

"Please," Emily repeated but with less determination. She dropped her arms to her sides in defeat, then sighed. This was not a battle that she was about to win.

"You go, Emily. I’ll catch up. I promise," Cindy said, not taking her eyes off Caleb. His eyes, freakishly yellow, were cold, dead, soulless. There was something very evil about him, she sensed, but that only added to her mounting infatuation.

Emily waited for a moment, hoping her sister would change her mind. "Fine, I'll go, but don’t be too long. You don’t want to miss our ride home," Emily said, turning and walking away.

"Lovely meeting you, too, Emily," Caleb called sarcastically after her.

Emily paused for a moment in the hall without turning around. Then she held up her middle finger and kept on walking.

"She’s right," Cindy said. "I should probably go. I don’t want to miss my ride…"

"Nonsense, I can give you a lift home. It will give us time to get to know each other a little better," Caleb purred into her ear. "Wouldn’t you like that? I know I would." He ran his finger across her cheek, down her throat, over her beating chest, and then let it linger between her breasts.

She sucked in a breath and held it to steady her heart. "I-" her phone vibrated in her pocket, and she quickly reached for it and read the message.

"Tell your sister that you have a lift home," he said.

"I should… I don’t even know your-"

"Tell her," Caleb repeated, cupping her face in his hand and running his thumb across her strawberry colored lips. "And my name is Caleb Strigoi."

Cindy nodded. "Okay then, I’ll tell her."

"Good girl," he said, dragging her into him. He held her there for a moment daring her to struggle. She did not. His hand traced up the back of her head, forcing her face closer to his. She could feel his warm breath on her skin, teasing her. Then he pulled her in and kissed her hard on the mouth. She felt herself falling into a void, but she was not afraid. Caleb was there in the darkness with her, holding her, showing her a world in her mind where her every desire would be granted.

Then, just as quickly, he pulled away, leaving her openmouthed with frantic eyes, pupils dilated and full of wanting. She had to have more of this world that Caleb had given her a glimpse into, a powerful, everlasting world. There was a price she would have to pay; she knew that. However, pay it she would. And without question! She thought about Charon, the ferryman from her Greek mythology lessons, and wondered what price would be demanded of her, to take her to the other side.

"I want more," Cindy said, in a breathless whisper.

"Patience. First, I must see if you are worthy of such a gift," Caleb said, taking her by the hand and leading her away. She followed him willingly. She knew at that moment that she would follow him anywhere.

Later that evening, after saying goodnight to her parents, Cindy snuck back down into the lounge room and stole three bottles of vodka from her parent's liquor cabinet. The vodka would not be missed. Her father bought alcohol by the dozen for his lavish dinner parties. And with her mother having a preference for vodka, a mere three bottles would go completely undetected. She wrapped them up securely in a towel and shoved them into her backpack, then crept back up the stairs to her bedroom where Emily waited anxiously for her.

It had taken her exactly an hour and a half to talk Emily into climbing out of her bedroom window to wait a little way down the street for Caleb and his friends.

They walked in silence, with only the sound of the concrete pavement beneath their shoes and the rustling of palm fronds overhead. The sultry breeze coming in across the ocean slapped strands of their hair across their faces. Emily rummaged in her bag, pulled out a colored band and secured her hair back into a makeshift ponytail. "Would you like a hair band, Cin?"

"No thanks." Cindy answered pushing the strands of hair off her face. "I’ll be fine."

Even with messy hair tangled across her face, Emily thought, Cindy still looked beautiful.

A dog howled somewhere behind them, causing Emily to walk a little quicker, a little closer to her sister.

"Don’t worry, Em," Cindy said, draping an arm protectively over Emily’s shoulders, "I’ve got your back."

They waited at the agreed-upon spot, a bus stop shelter just two minutes walk away from home. Emily paced while Cindy reapplied more black eye shadow and eyeliner. She had decided that it wasn’t dark enough, gothic enough.

"For God's sake, Em, sit down, you’re driving me crazy pacing around like that. Here, put some more makeup on, you look dreary. Don’t you want to make a good impression? Caleb said he was bringing friends. Perhaps he will bring that Damon guy. He’s cute, don’t you think, and quiet, so he’s probably more your type."

Emily stopped pacing and glared at her sister. Her arms folded stubbornly across her chest. "If they are anything like Caleb, which I highly suspect they are, then no. I do not want to make a good impression with them. In fact, I think this is a really bad idea, Cin, and I think we should just forget about this and go home."

"Not a chance in hell, Em. If you want to go home, go, but I’m staying," Cindy said, throwing her eyeliner back into her bag. Then she let out a sigh and grabbed Emily’s arm. "I’m sorry, Em. Please don’t go, I want you to come with me, and if they turn out to be losers, we will leave. Just give it a chance, okay. Do it for me."

"So you really like this… moron then?"

"Em," Cindy said, scowling at her sister.

"Okay, I’m sorry… so you like him?" Emily repeated.

"I really do, Em. He’s… I don’t know. There is something dark, almost unnatural about him, but that’s what makes him so exciting. It’s like he can see right inside of me, knows what I’m thinking… he gets me," Cindy added with a pleading look.

Emily sighed and sat down next to her sister. "Are you sure that’s a good thing? That he knows what you are thinking, Cin?"

"It’s what I want, Em. He’s what I want..."

"Alright... But you promise. If they turn out to be jerks, we go home."

Cindy nodded. "Sure, I promise," she said, applying lipstick to Emily’s pouting lips.

Emily glared at her.

"Come on Em. I said I promise. Now smile, okay? You’re much prettier when you smile."

Ten minutes later a Ford falcon, which looked like a sleek black cat, rumbled up and stopped at the bus stop. Caleb leaned across the front passenger seat and shoved open the car door.

"Great car," Cindy said, climbing in next to Caleb.

Emily forced a smile when a tall boy with burnt honey hair hopped out of the car and offered her a seat in the back next to a dark-haired girl.

"My name is Damon, Emily," he said, introducing himself. "And this is Lyssa. Caleb, I believe, you have already had the pleasure of meeting."

"Yes," Emily said, unable to hide her obvious feelings of distaste for Caleb. She move across the back seat next to Lyssa and gave her a quick smile.

Lyssa glared at her and raised a studded eyebrow. "Did you bring alcohol?" she asked.

"I did." Cindy answered turning around in the front seat to look at Lyssa. "I've got three bottles of vodka."

"That will do," the girl answered flatly, then turned away to stare out of the car window.

Damon hopped in next to Emily and closed the door behind him. Caleb revved the engine, dropped the clutch, and smashed the vehicle into first gear, propelling the vehicle forward. A cloud of smoke curled off the rubber tires as they sped away, spraying a barrage of gravel over the footpath and shelter.

Five minutes later, Caleb turned the key in the ignition, silencing the reverberating engine and the loud music. Most of the journey, apart from the deep, throbbing bass on the stereo, had been in silence. Now it was the eerie sound of a single night bird, and the lapping ocean breaking gently on the sandy beach ahead of them, that welcomed their arrival. Lyssa spoke first. "Vodka!" she demanded thrusting her hand out toward Cindy in the front seat.

"Oh, okay, sure, here you go," Cindy said as she pulled one of the bottles from the bag at her feet and handed it to Lyssa. Lyssa grunted, snatched the bottle, shoved the rear car door open, and climbed out. She unscrewed the cap of the bottle, tossed it on the sand, and poured the crystal clear liquid into her mouth.

Emily stared after her, "Is she really going to drink that straight from the bottle? No orange juice or lemonade, nothing? she asked, sliding out of the car after Damon.

Caleb chuckled. "Oh, our Lyssa prefers to mix her drinks with the blood of virgins. Are you offering yours, Little Flower?" he asked Emily in a mocking tone.

"Leave her alone, Caleb," Damon said, closing the back door.

"Oh, isn’t that gallant? Looks like you have found yourself a knight in shining armor, Little Flower," Caleb said, stepping out of the front seat and pocketing his keys.

Cindy climbed out last with her backpack, and handed the heavy bag to Caleb.

By the time they reached Lyssa, a little way down the beach, she already had a small bonfire. The flames hissed and crackled, devouring twigs, dried leaves and the remnants of a burnt-out log. Lyssa was sitting a little back from the flames and was smoking a joint that she held tightly between her black-painted fingertips. She inhaled, held her breath, and then slowly exhaled a pungent swirl of smoke into the air. She inhaled once more, then offered it to Caleb.

Cindy looked at Caleb, then Lyssa. They were both dark haired, pale skinned. The same yellowish cat-colored eyes. Up close, she noticed that they even had similar mannerisms. "Are you guys related?" she asked, looking from one to the other.

Lyssa smirked. "Cousins," she said, looking directly at Cindy. "We like to keep it in the family."

Cindy just looked at her, and then laughed. "You're just kidding, right, that's funny…"

Lyssa scowled and took another drink from the bottle. "Oh yes," Lyssa replied, "I’m such a comedian..."

"Now, Lyssa, play nice," Caleb said, squinting his eyes and drawing in on the joint.

"I brought a blanket," Emily offered, taking it out of her bag and spreading it out on the sand and sitting down.

"Toke?" Caleb asked through a plume of smoke as he handed the shrinking joint to Cindy.

Emily looked up at her with a pleading frown that said, please don’t. Cindy took the joint and held it between her perfectly French manicured fingernails. She inhaled, held her breath, and then exhaled with a bout of coughing.

Caleb handed her a full bottle of vodka. "Drink," he said, taking the joint from her, "it’ll take the edge off." Cindy gulped a mouthful of the vodka from the bottle. She gasped as it burned her throat and brought salty tears to her eyes. She didn’t know which was worse, the smoke or the liquor. Caleb took another toke of the joint, then offered it to Emily, who had her knees pulled up tight under her chin.

She shook her head and grimaced. "No, thanks," she said, turning away. Caleb smirked, exhaled, and held it out to Damon.

Damon declined, too. "It’s all yours," he said to Caleb, sitting down next to Emily.

"Well does anyone here know how to party? Or is it just me and Lyssa that know how to have fun?" Caleb shouted into the darkness. The new moon overhead offered little in illuminating the night sky.

"I’ll give it another go," Cindy offered, sashaying over to Caleb. He took another pull on the joint, then pressed his lips hard onto Cindy’s mouth and exhaled. She drew in his breath and laughed, then took another drink from the vodka bottle. It didn’t burn as much the second time, so she drank again, and again.

"Cindy..." Emily began.

"Oh, Em," Cindy said, shoving the vodka bottle down into her sister's hand. "You only live once, try living a little…"

Everyone stared at Emily. She felt angry and humiliated. And wished more than ever that she could be as outrageous as her sister was.

Emily blushed and took a sip. She gasped and coughed. "That’s horrible…"

Cindy glared at her, "Em, will you please just try and have some fun for once?"

Emily took another sip, fighting the urge to throw up. "It isn’t so bad I guess. Once you get used to the bitter taste."

Caleb led Cindy away from the fire, to where the orange glow began to merge with the dark shadows beyond. Then he pulled her down on the sand beside him, his hands searching out parts of her body that made her cheeks burn and her heart race. He pushed her back so that she lay flat on the sand beneath him. Her eyes, thirsty for pleasure, begged him for more. He was more than happy to oblige.

"Well, I’m going for a swim," Lyssa announced, standing up and pulling her top up over her head. She dropped it on the sand, then stepped out of her long, flowing purple skirt. Clothed only in her black underwear, her pale skin, tattooed with ancient symbols, glistened in the orange glow of the flames. She twisted her hair up on top of her head. "Don’t do anything I wouldn't do," she said, picking up a bottle of vodka and heading toward the dark, unseen ocean.

"But what about the sea wasps?" Emily called after her. "I don’t think there are any stinger nets… How can she even see where she’s going, it’s so dark out there?" she asked, looking at Damon.

"You don’t have to drink that," he said, taking the vodka bottle from Emily’s hand. "And it’s the stingers you should be concerned about, not Lyssa. She’ll be just fine." Damon pushed the vodka bottle into the sand to secure it.

From the shadows came breathless gasps and sighs as Caleb moved his mouth with precision over Cindy’s all but naked torso. Then she giggled. "Caleb, I don’t think-"

"Hush," he said, putting his hand over her mouth to silence her. "Don’t think, just enjoy," he whispered into her ear. However, his brash tone was more a demand than a suggestion.

"Come on," Damon said, standing. He took Emily’s hands and pulled her to her feet. "Let’s go for a walk."

"But Cindy…" Emily began.

"I don’t think your sister will do anything she doesn’t want to do."

Emily smiled. "You are right about that," Emily said, nodding her head. Cindy was correct about Damon. He was nice, and a gentleman, and nothing at all like Caleb. She let herself be led away by him. She could really fall for a guy like Damon Draco. "Hang on a second," Emily said, leaning down to remove her shoes and toss them beside her backpack.

"How are you enjoying school?" Damon asked.

"A lot, actually, I’ve just joined the fund-raising committee. We are holding a Medieval Masquerade Ball at the end of the month to raise money for the Black Saturday Bush Fire survivors. There are still a ton of families without homes. They lost everything."

"Yes, I’ve seen the posters all around school about that. But what does a Medieval Masquerade theme have to do with the Black Saturday Bush fires?"

"It represents another "Black" time in history," Emily said. "The Black Death, the Great Pestilence, the Great Plague, also known as the Bubonic plague. And just think, all those deaths, not from War or deadly weapons, but by a rat and the bite from a tiny flea, the Xenopsylla Cheopis," Emily said, pronouncing the scientific name of the flea correctly.

"Oh, yes," Damon said, looking blindly ahead. "I remember…"

"You remember?" Emily asked staring at his blank expression.

"No, I mean. I know… I have done some research on the period. Millions died… it was devastating." And to himself he thought, I was too late to save her. To Emily he said, "You know a lot about your plagues."

"I want to be a doctor," Emily said proudly.

"Well then," Damon said, "it pays to know such things." Then he added quickly. "You know, it may not have been an actual battle that killed all those souls, but it was most certainly a war that was to blame." He kicked a soft drink can along the beach.

"Really?" Emily asked with growing interest. "How so?"

"It was 1346; during the battle, the Mongol warriors of the Golden Horde, hurled plague-infected bodies of their dead over the walls of the besieged Crimean city of Caffa. They figured that if they infected their enemies with the disease, they would become sick and easily defeated, which, of course, is exactly what happened. What the Mongols didn’t realize, however, was that they were also infecting themselves in the process."

"Morons," Emily said, shaking her head. "How could they not know that was what would happen?" She thought for a moment. "Then I guess you could say, if this account is correct, that the war in Caffa should be recognized as the beginning of biological warfare, with the Black Death as its disastrous consequence."

"Yes," Damon said, giving the soft drink can a swift kick, and sending it flying off into the ocean.

"Good shot," Emily said. "So, what happened next?"

"A year later, fleeing the country, no pun intended," Damon said, "Italian traders, not realizing that they, and their rat-infested cargo, were infected, spread the plague from Caffa to the Mediterranean Basin, spreading the Black Death into Europe. From Italy, the disease spread like wildfire through France, Spain, Portugal, England, Germany, Russia, and Scandinavia." Damon concluded.

"I would hate to have lived during those times, such brutal and uneducated people." Emily shook her head. "So, Damon," she said, changing her thoughts to a lighter, less depressing subject. "Do you have a girlfriend?"

Damon studied Emily’s face for a moment then smiled. She wasn’t as pretty as her sister was, but she was lovely. There was something very wholesome and good about her; she shouldn’t be getting mixed up with the likes of Caleb and Lyssa, or him, for that matter. "Not really," he said eventually.

"Not really?" Emily repeated.

"It’s kind of complicated." He thought about Grace, and how guilty he felt for leaving her like that, with just a scribbled note. But what choice did he have? She would never have understood. Then he turned to Emily. "What about you, do you have a boyfriend?"

"Oh, no," Emily laughed, beaming up into his face. "Not yet…" For a moment she was silenced, lost, mesmerized by the gaze of Damon's catlike eyes. Is this how Cindy felt when she looked into Caleb's eyes, she wondered? Emily felt giddy, elated…. "You're so-"

"I'm sorry," Damon said, turning quickly away, shifting his gaze out over the moons shimmering reflection on the tranquil ocean. "I didn't mean to…"

Emily blushed, and leaned down to pick up a doll's head from the shifting line of flotsam along the water's edge and fidget with it in her hands. She shook her head to free herself from the strange effects of Damon's gaze. She shifted her focus and studied the doll's head in her hands to clear her mind. Someone had drawn black rings around the doll's eyes and painted the mouth with imaginary blood. A big brother, no doubt, she thought, taking revenge on one of his little sister's dolls. Emily thought about her sister.

"I think we should go back. We've walked quite a way, and it's starting to get late." She paused for a moment, tossing the doll's head back and forth in her hands. "You know, if you don’t have any plans tomorrow after school, we are having a meeting for the Masquerade ball at the Coffee Bean. And you know what they say, the more heads the better." She pulled her arm back and tossed the doll’s head into the water. She could just make it out in the glimmer of moonlight on the water, bobbing up and down gracefully on the rise and fall of the black, almost flat, ocean. A few moments later, it quickly filled with salty water and sank, returning to its watery grave.

"I’ll let you know," he said vaguely, thinking about Grace again.

The next morning, Cindy woke feeling dizzy from what she imagined to be the effects of a hangover. She hadn’t really drunk that much, she thought, but what else could it be? And then there were the blackouts. Parts of the evening she couldn’t recall. Apparently, she had stripped off and gone for a swim with Caleb and Lyssa, but she had no memory of that. She stood up slowly, trailing her hand along the bedroom wall to steady herself as she walked. Stepping out of her pajamas, she examined her naked reflection in the mirrored wall. Finger marks and bite marks bruised her arms, her legs, her thighs. She examined her bruised breasts, and was shocked to find two puncture marks between her armpit and her left breast. A tear, quickly followed by more, ran down her cheek. This was not how it was meant to be. This was not how she had thought she would look afterwards. Shouldn’t she look more beautiful, more womanly, and more alive, when she basked in the glorious knowledge that she was no longer a virgin? She wiped her tears away. What was she so worried about, wasn’t everyone’s first time horrible? Any doubts that she had harbored were quickly put to rest by one piece of awe-inspiring fact. That Caleb was hers now, and that was all that mattered. That, and the belief that the next time she gave herself to him would be wonderful. She quickly got dressed, motivated by the desire of seeing him again. She chose her clothing with a different purpose that morning. She put on jeans and a long-sleeved jacket. The bruises and bite marks on her neck she skillfully camouflaged with carefully applied makeup and long tendrils of her fair hair.

CHAPTER 15 – Urban Legend

"She appears on a dark moonless night…" A group of students gathered eagerly around Jackson Green in the assembly area as he began to narrate his version of the legend. Some had never heard of the legend, and sat leaning in with shoulders hunched, listening intently to every word. Others stood around nodding in agreement. "It’s true… I've heard that… I knew this guy… he was never the same after…" they interjected at random times throughout Jackson's rendition.

"I heard she was this hot Asian chick," Jackson said, smiling. His girlfriend, Amber Maddison, glared at him as she flicked her shoulder-length auburn hair over her shoulder. Jackson shrugged. "What? That’s the way the legend goes. I’m not saying I thought she was hot," he said, slipping his arm around Amber's shoulders, making her smile.

"Keep going," resounded the eager demands from the expanding assembly of students.

Sonndra, a softly spoken girl with satiny brown skin and a mop of long spiral curls, joined in. "Apparently she was gang raped by Japanese fishermen at East Point, and became so freaked out by the whole horrible ordeal that she hung herself."

"No," Andrew Fellows chimed in. "I heard it was Australian soldiers…"

"Quiet, Andrew... Let Jackson tell it, his family has lived here longer than yours," Sonndra said, easing her way through the crowd to stand in front of Andrew's tall frame.

Andrew wrapped his arms around Sonndra's waist and continued. "Then why would she haunt an Australian World War Two military museum if they were Japanese guys that raped her? It doesn’t make sense."

"I don't know, just let Jackson tell it. He tells it better than you do," Sonndra insisted.

Jackson nodded. "Thanks, anyway, the legend goes that she hung herself, not just because she was raped, but because she found out she was pregnant... And that’s how they found her, hanging from a Poinciana tree."

Amber joined in. "Just like Mr Munroe," she whispered. "He was hanging from a Poinciana tree, too. Do you think it could have been her, the "Poinciana Woman"? Do you think she is actually real?"

"It’s just a stupid story," Eric Faulkner said, biting into a meat pie held firmly between his beefy fingers. Blood-red tomato sauce oozed out from under the pastry lid and ran down his hand and onto the skull of his Grateful Dead t-shirt.

Sonndra watched as the sauce dribbled down his shirt, and screwed up her nose. "Shut up, Eric, you don’t know anything," she said, before continuing. "Anyway, now she goes around at night stalking and killing guys, getting her revenge... on all men." She let her penetrating gaze linger on Eric.

"Yeah," Jackson added. "She entices men like a siren wearing this beautiful white robe, with her long black hair flowing down her back and-"

"It better be see-through, this robe," Eric added, "or I’m not interested…" Andrew and Tony Faulkner, Eric's younger brothers, snickered and slapped Eric on the back in full agreement.

Jackson ignored them, much to the approval of Amber, he noted. He leaned forward, drawing the crowd further in. "Then, when she gets them, she magically transforms herself into this hideous, crazy old witch with warts and long talons and yellow eyes and-"

Tony crept up silently behind Amber, clapped his hands together, and growled at the same time, propelling Amber off her seat and onto Jackson’s lap.

The boys, including Jackson, collapsed into howls of laughter, which was met with an angry glare from Amber. Soon enough though, everyone was laughing, including Amber.

"Don’t you want to know what she does with her unfortunate victims?" Jackson continued in a low voice.

"Yes," everyone said in unison, including Amber and Sonndra.

"Well, just before she strings up her victims by the throat, she cuts them open with her razor-sharp talons and feeds on their guts." He paused for a moment, to build anticipation, and then said slowly. "While they’re still alive…"

"No way," Eric said with the last of his pie garbling his words. "How could one little Asian chick hold down a guy, cut him open and eat his guts while he’s still alive?" He wiped his hands down his jeans and sucked the last of the sauce off his fingers.

"Easy," Jackson said, running his hands over the shaved crop of hair on his head. "She paralyzes them with just a look. This bitch is like evil, man... She's an undead, an immortal with kick-arse superpowers. All the undead have superpowers, it’s a given."

Another entered the arena and in a louder, more powerful voice said, "Well how about we go see if this evil bitch is for real? Who’s with me?”

The crowd grew silent, searching for the owner of the voice.

"Or are you all too chicken shit?" Caleb asked, circling the group as it lapsed into complete silence. "Cat got your tongues?"

Another joined in, Lyssa this time. "She has a distinguishing shrill, you know, like a cursed, black crow," Lyssa said as she hovered amongst the noiseless crowd. Then she wedged herself in between Jackson and the disgruntled Amber, separating them, and sat down. She stared directly into Jackson’s eyes, holding his gaze, and continued. "On a moonless night, if you hold your arms out and spin around and around three times calling out her name, you can summon her... "Poinciana Woman, Poinciana Woman, Poinciana-"

"That is some freaky shit," Eric said, interrupting Lyssa. She turned her face slowly to stare disdainfully at the tall well-built boy.

She got up and stalked over to him. "Eric, isn’t it?" she asked running a fingernail across his lips to scoop up the blob of tomato sauce from the corner of his mouth to examine it.

"Yeah," he blurted, "I’m Eric." And then with a cocky tone, "who’s asking, bitch?" he said, looking her up and down with a smirk on his face. The crowd gasped and held their breaths.

Lyssa stared at him for a moment then shoved her finger roughly into his mouth. "You’re a pig!" Then she spun around, leaving the boy gawking at her, and looked at the others. "Who wants to go on a fun excursion to East Point tomorrow night to meet a friend of mine? Who knows, maybe Adam, our sadly missed gym teacher, will turn up, too? Now wouldn’t that be fun..." Lyssa said, looking from one face to another, gazing at them fixedly with her yellowish eyes as, one by one, they either turned away or lowered their heads. Her gaze settled on Eric, who was wiping the rest of the sauce off his mouth.

"To hell with you," he said, as a trickle of blood began to run from his nose down his top lip.

"Hey, Bro," Tony said pointing. "Your friggin nose is bleeding… you got a bloody nose." Everyone turned and stared at Eric. Tiny drops of blood dripped from his nose, then more, until a stream was running down his chin and pooled on the grey tiled floor at his feet. Everyone began whispering and staring at Lyssa, confused by the malevolent smile on her face.

Eric pulled a gym towel from his sports bag and held it up to his bloody nose.

"You better get to the sickroom," Sonndra said, taking his arm. "Come on, I’ll take you…"

Eric shot her an angry look, shrugging her off. "I don’t need to go to the sick-"

"Man, you really do," Tony said, guiding his brother down the hall and leaving a trail of bloodied footprints in their wake.

"Come on babe," Caleb said, leading Lyssa away with his arm wrapped around her waist. "They’re all a pack of gutless wonders." He tilted his head, listening; he heard Cindy’s thoughts in his mind. "Incoming," he muttered to no one in particular.

"We’ll be there," Tony called back over his shoulder. "Ten-thirty Saturday night. Then we’ll see who’s a chicken shit..."

"I’m going, too," said Jackson excitedly to a handful of other guys who nodded in agreement.

"No you are not!" Amber said, pushing herself along the bench to fill the spot that Lyssa had vacated.

"The hell I’m not!" He looked into Amber’s dejected eyes. "I’m sorry, but this is too good an opportunity to pass up. Safety in numbers and all that…"

"You can count me in." It was Clair Aldridge, Jackson’s ex-girlfriend. "I’m not afraid to go…"

Amber scowled at her. "I’m not afraid to go, either; it just isn’t a good idea, that’s all."

"Well then, you just stay home looking pretty and paint your nails, then," Clair said sarcastically.

"Caleb", Cindy called out, with Emily grudgingly following closely behind her. "Wait up, I’ve been looking everywhere for you…"

Lyssa rolled her eyes. "Pathetic, one good fu-"

"Shut it, can I help it if I’m that good?" Caleb said, cutting Lyssa off as Cindy drew up alongside him. Caleb wrapped his free arm around her. "My two favorite ladies," he said smugly.

Lyssa squirmed out of his grasp. "Piss off, you dick," she said as she strode away while Caleb laughed.

"What’s up with her?" Cindy asked, not really caring.

He shrugged. "She has her moments. Moody bitch when she gets hungry."

"Where’s Damon today?" Emily asked.

Caleb looked at Emily with a sly grin. "Well, my Little Flower, what did you and our Damon get up to last night?" He looked at Cindy, and leaned in and planted an uncaring kiss on her waiting lips. "And here I was thinking that you were the only sister that got lucky last night."

Cindy frowned, feeling hurt by his insensitive words. She had given him her virginity last night; shouldn’t he be thinking that he had been the lucky one? Didn’t he appreciate the gift she had given him at all?

He heard her thoughts. He didn’t care. In his mind, it was he who had given a gift that he knew no human male could match.

"It wasn’t like that," Emily spat defensively. "Damon isn’t like that, he’s a gentleman."

"Oh, marvelous, so a wallflower you remain. Not like your eager-to-please sister here," he said, pulling Cindy closer. "She’s a tigress-"

"Caleb," Cindy said, pulling away from him. "Why are you being such an arse?" She grabbed Emily’s arm. "Come on, Em, let’s go."

"Cindy, come on babe, I was just kidding, lighten up…you loved it." He laughed as the girls quickly walked away, heading for the closest girls’ bathroom. Cindy’s tears stung her eyes, then quickly spilled over and ran down her cheek.

Theria stalked up alongside him. "Still breaking hearts, I see, Caleb."

"What can I tell you?" he said unashamedly, shrugging. "By the time she gets home she’ll be breaking her neck to call me. She’s already aching for me. I can feel it. You know what they say. Once you go angel, you can never go back."

"You drank from her?" Theria asked. "I hope you were careful?”

"Of course, I took enough so as not to raise any suspicions. Poor girl thinks she had a hangover when she got up this morning. She doesn’t remember much. Well, only what I want her to remember."

"And her soul?" Theria pressed.

"A little…" Caleb replied, annoyed with Theria's barrage of questions.

"You take too much and you'll have nothing but a blubbering idiot on your hands. Blood is one thing, but the soul… you'll leave her brainless, crazy, or both, and then you'll-"

"I know what I'm doing, Theria, I only take enough to make her forget," Caleb snapped. "Anyway, shouldn't you be having this conversation with Siena? The whole school is talking about Adam. Why didn't she get rid of the body? Why leave it strung up on a tree, for God's sake? It was only a matter of time before someone would find it."

Theria shook her head. "Siena didn't do it. Sure, she had been drinking from him for nearly a week, and feeding a little on his soul. But she never took enough to send him crazy. By the time she realized something was wrong, he'd gone and hung himself. The rest you know."

Caleb frowned. "The more I think about it, the more this whole thing doesn't make sense."

Theria nodded. "I agree. There has to be another explanation."

"You think someone else was feeding on him?" Caleb asked.

"I do, there really isn't any other explanation," Theria said. "And after this conversation, I know it wasn't you."

"Are you serious?" Caleb said. Astounded that Theria could think such a thing. "I would never tap someone else's supply without invitation... Besides, I am more than capable of sourcing my own meal ticket."

"Well who, then?" Theria asked, lowering her voice as a group of students wandered by.

"Beats me," Caleb said, shrugging his shoulders. "But we'd better find out who, and soon."

"Yes," Theria agreed. "We don't need a rogue outsider blowing our cover. I already have enough problems with you…"

Caleb smirked then opened his mouth with the intentions of protesting, but the buzzing phone in his pocket interrupted his thoughts. "And that will be my meal ticket calling now," he said, ignoring the buzzing phone.

"You're not going to answer it?" Theria asked.

Caleb grinned, raised his hands then swung an arm around Theria's shoulders. "Treat them mean, keep them keen. That's my motto. Come on," he said, leading her away. "Let's blow this joint. A stray shouldn't be too hard to hunt down. And we haven't shared a meal in a while." He tilted his head, and not feeling Lyssa whereabouts, pulled his mobile from his pocket dialed her number. "Lyssa, sweetheart," he drawled. "Care to join Theria and me for a quick meal?" He nodded and then hung up. "She'll meet us in the car park in five minutes," he said, pocketing his phone.

Lyssa looked at her reflection in the mirror and wiped the blood off her chin. Then she turned on the tap and washed her hands clean. She turned around and leaned on the hand basin, and looked at Cindy and Emily standing motionless against the back wall, their shirts pulled down exposing their left shoulder blades. Both girls bore matching bite marks, and two carefully concealed puncture marks.

"Well, this has been fun, girls. I'm so glad we're friends. However, let's just keep this between the three of us," she said, smiling. "Now fix yourselves up," she said as she helped Emily button up her shirt and kissed the girl tenderly on the cheek. "I have a lunch appointment that I really don’t want to miss." She wiped a tear off Cindy's cheek. "Don’t worry, Caleb will forgive your little spat and will call you in no time. Oh, and the virginity thing, overrated, trust me. And Caleb, well, he can be such an arse at times... but what a lay! Now, you both remember our agreement? When I leave here, you won't remember me being here, just Emily comforting you after your little tiff with Caleb." Lyssa clasped her hands together. "Right, I'm out of here," and with that, she spun around, pulled the chair away from the bathroom door, and pushed her way through a small group of girls waiting to use the bathroom. She shook her head. "What can I say? Someone in there isn't coping very well after a lovers' spat with their boyfriend." She feigned a remorseful sigh, then sauntered off down the hall, her lips curled in a conceited smirk as a heady rush of contentment coursed through her blackened veins. She had learnt a long time ago that certain abilities were better kept hidden. Trust no one, her father had told her, and she had listened.

Five minutes later, she relaxed in the back seat of Caleb's car. Theria sat in the front next to Caleb. "So, what have you been up to in your absence, Lyssa?" Caleb asked glancing at her reflection in the rear-view mirror. Her face was serene, disclosing nothing to Caleb's watchful eye.

"Nothing of importance. Where are we off to, anyway?" Lyssa asked, twirling a strand of her glossy, obsidian-black hair between her fingers.

CHAPTER 16 – Ambrosia X

Ambrosia sat cross-legged on the sofa, waggling her foot as she marked the latest history assignments from her students. She had her long, dark hair pulled back into a ponytail, and a pen dangled out of her mouth as she turned the pages. She took a quick glance at her watch. Gary was late. She wondered if it was another one of those freakish accidents that he had been called out to investigate, that were becoming more frequent in the last few months.

She thought about Adam. She hadn’t liked him very much. Adam was one of those slimy guys that undressed you with his eyes every opportunity he got. He really creeps me out, Ambrosia had said to Gary when Adam had gone missing, the day before his body had been found. But he didn’t deserve to die the way he did, she had said when Gary had told her how Adam had died. She wondered what had made him do something like that, hanging himself. Money problems perhaps? A woman maybe? No one had any clue as to what had driven Adam to do such a thing. However, everyone agreed that he had been strange and withdrawn in the days leading up to his death.

His body had been found by a woman in the dense bush, looking for nesting logs for her parrots. She had discovered his body hanging from a tree in the bushland surrounding the old East Point Military Museum. However, the strangest part about Adam's death wasn’t his suicide, but the fact that his body had been covered in a multitude of bite marks, and sets of puncture marks that had been made by an unknown instrument. There were so many wounds that would have been impossible for Adam to inflict upon himself. And it was those facts, Ambrosia knew, that had not been reported in the media.

Obviously, Adam hadn’t been very popular with the students either. For as soon as his death had made the news, a fresh wave of stories about the legendary Poinciana Woman resurfaced and were being spread enthusiastically around the school, giving added credence to the so-called legend about the woman who supposedly haunted the old Museum. Each retelling of the story had been more horrific than the last. She had tried to put a stop to all the gossip with the help of the student counselor, but nothing seemed to work. Most of the students were thriving on the recent events, and the stories were escalating rather than abating. This was the most exciting event that had happened in their lives in months. A few students had gone to see Siena, the guidance counselor. However, she had certainly not been rushed off her feet by a grieving contingent of students. Most, in fact, had used Adam's death as an excuse to take time off school.

She knew the legend was nonsense, but something about the stories sent a violent shudder down her spine. Although it was hot, goosebumps still managed to prickle their way up Ambrosia’s arms and make the tiny hairs on the nape of her neck stand on end. She rubbed them briskly away.

She didn’t want to think about the legend, or any of the other stories that Gary had told her about recently. Stories like that always made her shiver on the inside, as if her skin had been turned inside out. It unnerved her, and took all her strength to control the buildup of energy that threatened to erupt if she thought about them too much. She remembered how dangerous it could be. How dangerous she could be, if she let her emotions take control of her. How innocent people could get hurt. So she never spoke about any of it. Not even with Gary.

Ambrosia tried to think about something else, something nice, so she thought about Gary. She thought about the flowers he would bring her, just as he did every Saturday night without fail, and smiled. She thought about the Gary who had rescued her from the street when she was just a teenager. And the Gary who had stayed with her when her parents had died, how he had stayed with her until she was capable of taking care of herself again.

She thought about the night they would spend, curled up on the sofa together to watch a movie and eat popcorn and ice cream. It was her favorite way to spend a quiet Saturday evening at home. Then she remembered. It was Gary’s turn to pick the movie, so she would probably spend most of the night nervously chewing her fingernails with her head buried in his chest. Gary always chose movies with lots of blood, which surprised her. Surely he saw enough of that at work. She took another glance at her watch. She would close her eyes for just a moment, she told herself. Five minutes later, Ambrosia was sound asleep and dreaming about Gary.

* * *

There was only one thing Ambrosia Raphael loved more than teaching her history students, and that was Gary Summers. He was her knight in shining armor, her real life hero. He was the first person she thought about when she opened her eyes each morning and the last person she thought about when she closed them and fell asleep at night. He was her reason, her season, her lifetime. The reason her heart missed a beat when he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her tenderly on the lips. Somehow, somewhere, a very long time ago, Ambrosia knew that their souls had been so lovingly woven together that they had almost been one. He was her soul mate.

Gary was handsome, with sandy blond hair, and had an incredibly infectious smile. When he smiled, his whole face lit up, making you want to smile, too. At thirty-four years of age, Gary was seven years older than Ambrosia. He had fallen in love with her the second he had laid eyes on her. His destiny had been sealed a very long time ago, and from that moment on, he knew that his heart would belong to Ambrosia always.

The heart remembers what the heart has so dearly loved before. And neither the inconceivable distance nor the vast passage of time that separates would succeed in persuading his heart to believe otherwise.

I ponder on that for a moment, about how the heart remembers. Then I quickly push the thoughts away. Not now, I tell myself firmly. Maybe not ever. I have a larger, more important role to play. But still, whenever I hear Grace, or more recently Damon, murmur my name … it is difficult not to listen, not to feel, not to remember and not think, what if?

But alas, I digress.

When Ambrosia was seventeen, she would spend hours daydreaming about the day she would become Mrs Ambrosia Raphael-Summers. She had torn a picture of a wedding gown out of a magazine, and kept it hidden in the top drawer beneath her t-shirts.

At twenty-seven, although it was dog-eared and creased from continual folding and unfolding, she still had the picture hidden away in her top drawer. Occasionally she would retrieve the picture, sit herself down on the end of her bed, and scrutinize the picture in great detail. She would imagine herself wearing the shiny satin and lace gown with the white net veil that would hide her face. She would close her eyes and imagine the moment that Gary would lift the veil slowly from her face, the moment he would gently kiss her. She had memorized and imagined the moment a thousand times. Then she would refold the picture, and return it to her hiding place.

Gary hadn’t proposed yet, but she knew it was only a matter of time before he did. They had talked about marriage and about the family that they would start trying for as soon as they had enough money saved for a nice house somewhere in the suburbs. A home that was safe and loving for their children to come home to every day after school. Something she had never felt growing up in the foster system.

* * *

When Ambrosia was five years old, she had been found wandering along a long deserted highway, alone and disoriented. She had been wearing a torn floral dress that fell just below her grubby knees. She wore one shoe on her muddy feet, and had a bloodied gash across her forehead. No one could determine how long she had been wandering alone before she was picked up near the Queensland and Northern Territory border by an old farming couple on their way into town for supplies. She had no identification and no memory of who she was, or what had happened to her or her parents. No one had ever come forward for her, and there was never a report made for a missing infant matching her description.

The head nurse, a young dark-skinned woman at the remote nursing clinic that had tended to her injuries, gave her the name Ambrosia X, and the birth date 11th of August 1982: the name and date of the stillborn child she had delivered five years earlier.

Ambrosia was bathed, fed, and then handed over to the Department of Health and Community Services, then into Foster Care, where she was eventually placed with a family. Ambrosia did not fare well with this arrangement. Nightmares haunted her in her sleeping hours, and the foster fathers and brothers groped at her during her waking hours. The foster mothers and sisters shunned her. And within months, she would be moved on to yet another foster family where the appalling ordeal would begin all over again. She was always very happy to learn that she was going to be relocated to a different foster family, and believed whole-heartedly that her new family would be nicer than the previous one. They had to be. But they never were.

Eventually, a young police officer had rescued Ambrosia from a gang of youths that had found her sleeping in an alleyway, where they were upending her backpack and emptying all her belongings onto the pavement. She had been fifteen then, and had run away from her most recent foster brother, Andrew, and his family.

* * *

"Let go of me," she had screamed at Andrew, as she struggled free from his probing fingers with an unyielding strength that she had not known she possessed, the kind of strength that sleeps dormant in a dark pit within your core until something breaks, and the restless soul can be silenced and stilled no more.

Ambrosia screamed, pushed, and scratched at Andrew. "Get out of my room…and leave. Me. Alone! I detest you!" she yelled. Then she shoved the palms of her hands hard on his heaving chest.

The boy sailed through the open bedroom doorway and slammed hard into the adjacent wall, before collapsing to the floor in a misshapen heap. A framed portrait of his family wobbled, then fell off the wall, dropped into his lap, and smashed on the floor beside him.

"I’m telling Mom and Dad you did this, you bitch," he wailed, jabbing his finger in the air at Ambrosia, "just as soon as they get home." He winced, and then started to sob when he tried to push himself up off the floor with his arm. He looked down wide-eyed toward the searing pain that tore through his arm. "Jesus Christ, look at what you’ve done," he wailed, staring at an ivory-colored bone that poked grotesquely out of the gash in his arm.

"Good, I want you to tell them I did this... you weasel," Ambrosia shouted, slamming the door shut in his face. The pounding sound of his one good fist on the timber door exploded in her eardrums. She quickly barricaded the door shut with a tall chest of timber drawers. The heavy piece of furniture moved effortlessly across the floor as she pushed it into position. Then she sank to the floor with her hands covering her ears, and cried. Then, just as abruptly, she stopped. She got up, wiped her face with the back of her hand, then rushed around the room, frantically shoving pieces of clothing, a book, some personal belongings and a purse containing her meager savings into a backpack, and climbed out of her bedroom window. She hesitated for a moment on the high windowsill. It was a good three-meter drop to the ground below. She tossed her backpack out first. Then she took a breath and jumped. She landed on the grassy ground without faltering, picked up her backpack, and sprinted into the starless night. She never looked back, not once. Ambrosia decided that the deserted streets and dark alleyways at night were a far safer option than the environment that she had just escaped. And for the most part, she was right.

Gary had bundled up Ambrosia, along with her paltry belongings, and taken her to the home of Sol Raphael, a retired police officer, and his wife Dina, where he knew she would be safe. The couple adored Ambrosia immediately, and as soon as the arrangements were finalized, they adopted her. They nurtured her, cherished her and encouraged Ambrosia all the way through her schooling until she finally graduated with a teacher's degree. But most of all, they had loved her unconditionally.

* * *

On the day that Ambrosia turned twenty-one, she was celebrating her birthday with a group of friends at O’Regan's Tavern for lunch. They all sat noisily along a timber table with their glasses raised, and sung happy birthday to Ambrosia.

"Speech, speech", they sang out, after Ambrosia had blown out the last of her twenty-one birthday candles.

Ambrosia pushed herself to her feet and pretended to clear her throat. She picked up her glass and tapped it with a fork. "Testing, testing," she said over the din of the noisy tavern.

"Okay, quiet now, let Ambrosia speak," one of her friends called from the far end of the table.

"Wait a second. Check out the television," someone else called out pointing toward the television screen behind the bar.

Everyone in the tavern began to turn around to look at the television suspended on the wall at the furthest end of the bar.

"Turn it up, Mrs Cravits," a man called from the back of the room.

"Give me a second, Bob," she replied reaching for the television remote.

A somber hush fell quickly over the tavern, as they watched a young television reporter, not much older than Ambrosia, standing in front of a passenger airliner engulfed in a blazing fireball. Emergency workers darted frantically around the fuselage and strewn pieces of wreckage, searching for survivors.

The reporter smoothed her skirt, ran a hand through her hair, waited for a moment, nodded, then spoke. "A Sudanese passenger aircraft has crashed, killing one hundred and sixteen of the passengers and crew on board. However, there is a remarkable twist to this heartbreaking story. A ten-year-old girl has been rescued, and is the only survivor of this otherwise fatal crash. She is currently being treated in the hospital burns unit. Outside the hospital, locals are praying for the girl, whose identity still remains unknown. It is said that doctors hold grave fears for her survival, saying that the next forty-eight hours are crucial. With burns covering over sixty percent of her body, she will indeed need a miracle to survive this tragedy. So far, there are few details about how the crash occurred, but it has just been confirmed that it is in fact Sudanese Airlines flight 139A. It is believed that there are at least four Australians on board who have perished, but their names are yet to be released. Authorities are currently tracking down relatives of two of the deceased Australians, who are believed to be residing in Darwin in the Northern Territory. Please call the hotline on your screen for any further-"

Ambrosia’s breath caught in her throat. The blood drained from her cheeks. The glass of wine she was holding shattered in her grasp. Silent tears began to streak their path down her face. She knew right at that moment that they were dead. The only parents she could remember that had ever loved her. And for the first time that Ambrosia could recall, her heart broke.

She also realized at that very same moment that she had never felt more alive than this very moment. She felt too alive. The pain of being alive coursed through her, burning her, hurting her, scorching every nerve and fiber in her body. She began to shake feverishly, unsure whether it was the ground beneath her feet or her own limbs that were betraying her, tearing her insides out.

"Ambrosia? Jesus Christ, are you alright? What’s wrong? What’s happening?" It was Carmen, her best friend, grabbing her urgently by the arm and gently shaking her. "Your phone is ringing. Do you want me to-?"

"No," Ambrosia said, looking at the phone ringing in Carmen’s hand. She took it from her, and as she closed her fingers around it, it shattered it in her hand as though it had been made of glass. She looked at the broken pieces in her uncut hand, and let them fall through her fingers to the floor. Then she turned away and walked silently from the room and out onto the footpath. The stained glass door with the large four-leaf clover closed silently behind her, and then abruptly exploded into a thousand pieces.

The floor inside the tavern began to shudder harder, spasmodically at first, and then slowly it escalated until rows of spirit bottles and glasses began to jiggle on the wall behind the bar before they abandoned their posts and smashed one by one to the floor.

Overhead lights started popping and sprayed out electrified snowflakes of broken glass, plunging the tavern into an eerie darkness. Then the sprinkler system sputtered to life, drenching the screaming patrons. Outside, everything appeared, for the moment, to be blissfully normal. On the footpath, patrons sat sipping coffee and eating sandwiches at the Coffee Bean Café. Then all hell broke loose. They looked up, startled, and watched in horror at the sound of smashing glass and screaming, as scrambling bodies fled desperately through the tavern's timber doors and out into the street. Seconds later, fire alarms rang out noisily, followed by a thunderous explosion.

Ambrosia woke the next afternoon, sedated and curled up in her bed with Gary sitting patiently by her side, and she smiled. She saw a fresh bunch of flowers in a vase sitting on her bedside table. And the smile slowly faded. Today, they, too, only reminded Ambrosia of death, and one absolute memory came crashing back vividly into her mind, reminding her that her parents were dead.

CHAPTER 17 – The Plan

Kate knocked on Grace's bedroom door. "It's just me… Can I come in?"

"Yep, sure, Mom," Grace replied cheerfully, turning down the stereo.

"Grace, honey, are you still babysitting Abe tonight?" Kate asked, pushing the door ajar. Grace and Angela were sitting cross-legged on the bed, folding up clothes from an overflowing laundry basket.

"Sure am. Mrs Terran said she would be dropping him off sometime around seven."

Kate looked at the laundry basket on the bed and sighed. "Thank you so much for doing that for me, girls. There just don't seem to be enough hours in the day…"

"Don't worry, Mom, we're happy to do it. We know how flat out you are at the tavern with all your extra shifts," Grace smiled.

Angela nodded and said, "You working late again tonight, Mrs Connors?"

"Sure am… and Angela," Kate said.

"Yes," Angela replied.

"You know you can call me Kate."

"Yes, Mrs Connors, I know." Angela replied, returning her attention to the folding.

Kate shook her head. "Okay then, as long as you know..." She began to close the door, then pushed it open again. "Oh, I almost forgot to tell you. I'll leave some money on the kitchen counter for you so you can buy something for dinner, Grace. Plenty for you, too, Angela, if you are around tonight," Kate added.

"I won't be here tonight," Angela replied, standing to fold a beach towel.

"Oh?" Kate asked leaning back against the doorway. "Do you have a hot date?"

Angela cringed as though the question had been an insult. "Good lord, no," she finally answered. "I'm going with Josh to the East Point Military Museum, with a group of his friends." She paused for a moment, and then laughed. "Well perhaps I am babysitting, after all. Just not here..."

Kate frowned. "In the middle of the night? It won't be open."

"I know. Idiots are infatuated with the legend about the Poinciana Woman. And Mr Munroe the gym teacher," Angela said matter of factually.

"The teacher that hung himself?" Kate asked with a worried look on her face. "I don't think that's a good idea..."

"I know it isn't a good idea, that's why I'm going," Angela said. "To make sure no one does anything stupid."

Kate nodded. "Somehow, Angela, that makes me feel a whole lot better. But I still hope that you can make Josh reconsider."

Angela shrugged her shoulders. "He's a silly boy, Mrs Connors, what else can I tell you?"

Kate couldn't help but smile at Angela's response. "Josh is very lucky to have you as a friend, Angela."

"Yes, I know," Angela replied, without looking up from her folding. Kate and Grace shared a secret smile.

"And what about Zach?" Kate asked. "What's he up to tonight, does anyone know?"

Grace got up with a stack of folded t-shirts and slipped them into her top drawer. "He said he would be home later tonight. Actually, you will see him before I do. He's meeting up with friends at O'Regan's for dinner."

Kate began to close the bedroom door. "Well then it looks like everyone is present and accounted for. Do be careful tonight, Angela."

Angela shot a mortified look at Kate, but said nothing.

Kate stifled the urge to smile. "My apologies, Angela, I forgot who I was talking to..." But as soon as the door closed, a grin spread wide across Kate's face.

Grace's phone rang and she plucked it off the bedside table to answer it. She looked at the screen anxiously, and felt a little part of her heart become heavier in her chest. "Yes, Josh. No, Josh, I'm babysitting. No, I don't want to get out of it. Yes, hang on, I'll put her on." She put a hand over the phone and said to Angela, "It's Josh, but don't let him talk too long. I'm hoping Damon will call."

Angela nodded and took the phone. "Meet me at Grace's place at seven." Then she hung up and handed the phone back to Grace.

"Angela, I didn’t mean you had to be that quick."

Angela shrugged. "There wasn't anything else that needed saying."

"So, what's the plan? Grace asked.

"Well," Angela began, "First, Jackson is picking up Amber, and then Josh and me. And then we are going to the Bean to meet up with the others. We'll probably hang around there for a while and have something to eat. The boys also plan on having a few games of pool at O'Regan's. At this time I will no doubt be subjected to a highly stimulating conversation with Amber and Sonndra."

Grace smiled at the horrified look on Angela's face. She was obviously mortified at the prospect of being placed in a situation where she would have to join in on a conversation that she absolutely had no desire to participate in. "Well, maybe Amber and Clair will get in a punch-up over Jackson. That might make it interesting?" Grace offered.

Angela looked at Grace. "You're not helping."

"Sorry," Grace said, shrugging. "What time are you going to East Point?"

"After Tony's shift has finished at O'Regan's we'll head off. We should be there by ten-thirty. Well that's the plan anyway. Hopefully everyone'll get bored in the first fifteen minutes and will want to go home."

"Yeah, you are probably right," Grace said.

"Sadly, no," Angela replied shaking her head.

Grace frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Eric and Tony are going, remember. When have you not known those two to do something stupid? It must be something in their genes. Although I think the youngest, Matthew, seems to be the exception, because he is quite nice and very smart. He's in my chess club."

Grace nodded, then sat back down on the bed and thought about Eric. "Do you remember when they first started school? They were okay back then. It's kind of just recently that they started acting out. Maybe they've got problems at home?”

Grace had had a crush on Eric when the brothers first arrived at the school. Eric had run into her in the corridor and knocked a stack of books out of her hand. He'd immediately apologized and swooped down to pick them up for her. And after the customary banter of apologies and introductions, he had asked for her phone number and about the possibility of catching up sometime. Grace had been instantly thrilled with the prospect. But he didn't call her, and any time they spoke after that first meeting, although he had been polite at first, it was as though the conversation about him calling her had never taken place. But just lately, although not outright rude, he had become somewhat standoffish when she tried to speak with him. He and his brother Tony were popular with both the girls and the guys, and usually had a group of friends circling around them, vying for their attention. Their younger brother Matthew seemed to be less popular, and kept mostly to a smaller, quieter group of friends. Grace frowned and looked at Angela. "Have you heard if Damon is going tonight?"

"I take it you still haven't spoken with Damon since his disappearing act on Thursday night?"

Grace shook her head sadly. "Not a single word. And because he wasn't at school Friday, I don't have a clue what's going on, or what's not going on." Grace thought about Eric again. History, she concluded, was beginning to repeat itself. Not that she dwelled too much on the Eric saga. But with Damon, the connection she had felt toward him had been overwhelming, passionate even, if she was going to be honest with herself.

They heard Kate call out from the front door. "I'm off to work now, girls. I'll see you when I get home. Money is on the bench near the phone, Grace. Call me if you need anything... love you."

"Okay Mom, thanks," Grace called back. "Love you, too."

The front door closed, and everything fell quiet for just a brief moment, until a scratching sound from outside Grace's bedroom door startled them. Angela and Grace looked at each other, listening.

"I'll get it," Angela said, pushing herself up off the bed. She pulled the door open. "Where have you been?" she asked bending down to pat Champsie on the top of his fluffy white head.

CHAPTER 18 – Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep

"Door's unlocked, Mrs Terran. Just come on in. I'll be there in just a second," Grace called out to the knocking on the front door. She quickly hung her bath towel on the back of her bedroom door and rushed down the hall to meet Abe and his mother. "Hi Abe," she said, swooping down to give him a hug. "I swear you've grown six inches since I've last seen you." She put her hands on her waist and looked him up and down. "And you are way more handsome. How old are you now, anyway?" she asked.

Abe beamed up at her in his Spiderman pajamas. "I'm eight years old now," he said, pleased with himself.

"Really," Grace asked in mock surprise. "Are you sure? You look much older than eight..."

Abe nodded enthusiastically. "I'm eight, nine next birthday!" he added.

Mrs Terran smiled. "I have some things in here for him," she said, putting Abe's backpack down by his feet. "He has a spare pair of pajamas, coloring books, books, DVD, toys, snacks, all the usual things." She leaned down and kissed Abe on his forehead. "You be good for Grace, Abe. Don't stay up too late, and go to bed when Grace tells you to."

"Yes Mama, I will." Abe replied, dragging his backpack into the lounge room. He found a spot on the carpet and unzipped his bag to retrieve a handful of things, including his Spiderman DVD.

"He's always good, Mrs Terran. Abe is never a problem, and we always have fun. Don't we, Abe," Grace said, calling over to the boy. He nodded with a wide grin and went back to unpacking the rest of his things.

"Thank you, dear," Mrs Terran said in her American accent. "We shouldn't be too long. Not too much after midnight, I wouldn't imagine."

"Mom said you should just let him sleep here the night. Saves having to wake him, and I can walk him home in the morning after breakfast. You and Mr Terran can have a sleep-in."

"Well that would be lovely, dear. I will take you up on that offer, if you are sure, Grace?"

Grace nodded. "I'm more than happy to look after him until after breakfast."

Mrs Terran leaned in and gave Grace a motherly hug. "Thank you, dear, you are a sweetheart. You have my number if you need me for anything, any time." Then she waved at Abe and made her way toward the front door. "I'll see you in the morning, Abe, after breakfast. Be good for Grace."

Abe smiled and waved back, "Goody, I like sleeping over. Grace tells the best stories… bye, Mom."

Grace smiled and closed the door behind Mrs Terran. "Well then, Abe, what do you want to do first?" she asked, sitting herself down on the sofa next to him. She put her hands on her knees and waited for his reply.

Abe didn’t need time to respond. "Spiderman and biscuits," he said decisively. Grace found the remote control wedged tightly between the sofa cushions, and turned on the television. She put her hand out. "DVD, please."

"What's this?" he asked when a nun flew across the television screen.

"Oh, it's just one of the DVD's Mom bought online. It's called The Flying Nun. It was one of her Mom's favorite television shows when she was growing up." They sat and watched it for a moment as the tiny nun with the winged hat plummeted to earth and landed in a pile of trashcans. Then they both laughed. "Do you want to keep watching it for a while?" Grace asked.

Abe watched for a few moments longer, then asked. "Does she have superpowers?"

"No, I don't think so." Grace answered. "She's just very light, so when she wears the funny hat, the wind picks her up and she can fly."

Abe shook his head and screwed up his nose. "Patrick says Spiderman, Spiderman has superpowers," he said, handing Grace the DVD.

"And just how long have you been listening to this Patrick?" Grace asked, taking the DVD from Abe.

"Since I saw your angel sitting on the kitchen bench," Abe replied.

Grace studied Abe's face. "And how old were you when you first saw this angel?" Grace asked, playing along.

"Three," Abe said without a moment's hesitation.

Grace wondered how she should broach the situation. She likened it to telling a child that the Tooth Fairy wasn't real. That it was your Mom and Dad that put the coins under your pillow while you slept at night. "The angel wasn't real, Abe," Grace said gently. "She was just my imaginary friend. I told you stories about her… remember?"

Abe shook his head stubbornly. "She was real, and her name was Hope, and you sent her away because you were sad and didn't believe in angels anymore."

Grace stared at the boy, momentarily lost for words. She closed her eyes, trying to remember. There was something there… she just couldn't quite put her finger on it. She shook her head and opened her eyes. "Like I said, Abe, Hope was just my imaginary friend. That's all. Now let's get this movie started before it gets too late." Grace got up and opened the machine, took out her mother's DVD, and slipped Abe's Spiderman movie into the tray. "So, what kind of biscuits do you have there, Abe?" she asked settling back down on the sofa next to him.

Abe opened the lid to his lunchbox. "You want one?" he asked, handing Grace a biscuit. "They're Teddy Bear biscuits, my favorite." He smiled and pushed one into Grace's hand. Grace stared at it for a moment as it lay in her open palm. Then she closed her fingers gently around it and fought back her emotions. Tears pooled in her eyes but she quickly blinked them away.

"How long have these been your favorite?" she asked, almost afraid of what Abe's answer might be.

"Since Patrick," Abe replied biting into a biscuit.

"Patrick?" Grace asked. "Who is this Patrick?"

"You know," he said, looking at her and frowning. "Patrick, you know, your friend. The little boy who died in the house fire. You went to school with him. Teddy Bear biscuits were his favorite, too. Why don't you remember?"

Grace stared at the boy in astonishment. This was impossible, wasn't it? "How do you know about that, about Patrick? Grace whispered, more to herself than Abe. She did the calculations in her head. "You weren’t even born."

"Patrick told me." Abe answered. "He talks to me all the time. Do you want to tell him hello?" Abe asked.

Grace nodded mutely. "Um, sure…that would be…nice." Then she smiled, remembering Patrick's cheeky little face dotted with freckles. "Tell him I miss him so much and that he was my very best friend in the whole world."

"You tell him." Abe answered, " He can hear you."

"That's impossible," Grace stammered, glancing around the empty room.

"No it isn't," Abe said. "Patrick has superpowers!"

The tiny hairs on the nape of Grace's neck stood up. "You're saying Patrick is here, in this room?" Grace asked dubiously as she scanned the room. Nothing more than a little boy with an incredible imagination, not unlike her own at that age, she told herself.

"Well kind of. He's in my head. He can hear and see everything that I can. Clever, hey!"

"Hi Patrick, I miss you... very much," Grace said in a little voice, not quite believing but not disbelieving either. Something inside her told her that Abe was not imagining Patrick, or Hope. There were so many similarities that she just couldn't dismiss the whole thing as Abe having an overactive imagination.

"Patrick says he misses you, too, but he really wants to watch Spiderman now."

"Oh, right, of course," Grace said, turning up the volume on the television set.

Abe turned back toward her. "Can we play sword fights after the movie?"

Grace nodded, still deep in thought about the conversation about Patrick. "Sure, we can."

Abe ran off to Grace's bedroom and returned with the two wooden toy swords and put them down on the coffee table. They were the swords that her father had made her when she had been a child. On each sword there was a name crudely engraved into the timber. On one of the swords the name read Grace, the other, Hope.

She smiled with the memory and ran her fingers lovingly down the length of the timber blade. "Before you get too involved in movies and swordfights, can you tell me what you would prefer for dinner? Chinese or pizza?"

"Patrick says pizza. Hawaiian, without the ham, extra cheese…" Abe replied without taking his eyes off the television screen as Spiderman leapt from skyscraper to skyscraper. "Go get the baddie, Spiderman," Abe squealed excitedly.

"Pizza it is," Grace said absently. Her mind was still in a tangled mess of indefinable thoughts, as if she was drifting in and out of reality. Her feet moved, one foot after the other. Her arm reached out and grabbed the pizza menu off the fridge. She dialed the number and ordered the pizza. She made herself a coffee and sat down at the kitchen table. And only then, as she drank the warm, bittersweet liquid, did her mind begin to repose.

"Pizza's here," Abe shouted as he scrambled off the sofa in a mad rush to open the front door. "Hello," the pizza boy said greeting Abe with a warm smile. "I've got your pizza here for you, Buddy."

"Hi," Abe answered, taking the pizza box and pushing the lip open enthusiastically. He leaned down, letting the aroma of the melted cheese topping fill his nose.

"Okay, Abe, hold your horses. I have to pay for it first," Grace said, fetching the money off the kitchen counter.

"Are you coming in for pizza, too?" Abe asked as though he were welcoming in a longtime friend.

"Abe!" Grace said. "I'm sure the delivery guy has other people that he needs to deliver pizzas to tonight. I'm sorry about -" Grace stopped mid sentence to stare at the fair-haired and very attractive delivery boy standing at her front door. "Do I know you?" she asked after studying his face for a brief moment. Abe wandered back to the sofa, balancing the pizza box on one hand and a slice of half-eaten pizza in the other. On the television screen, Spiderman was hanging upside-down, kissing a blonde girl. Abe screwed up his face. "Yuck, Spiderman. Gross!"

The delivery boy smiled at Abe, then returned his attention to Grace. "I'm not sure; I've only been here for just over a week."

"In Darwin, or at the Pizza Place?" Grace asked, and then added. "Pizza is a regular in this household."

"Both," he replied, giving Grace her change, letting his fingers linger in her palm longer than required. "You can tell Abe that I made sure they put extra cheese on the pizza for him. Oh, and seeing as you are a regular, I'm sure I will have the pleasure of seeing you again very soon," he said, raising an eyebrow. Then he gave her a quick wave, closed the screen door between them, and was gone.

Grace stared after him as he climbed into the tiny red Pizza Place delivery vehicle. "I hope you are saving me some of that pizza?" she called to Abe absently as she watched the car drive away. The smell of the cheesy topping quickly reminded Grace how hungry she was. Foremost on her mind, though, was the image she held firmly in her head of the fair-haired delivery boy's face. And how uncannily familiar it seemed to her.

After the pizza, the movie and the sword fights had finished, Grace scooped up the sleeping Abe from the sofa and carried him down to her room. Then she tucked him into bed on a mattress on the floor. "Goodnight, little man," she said, giving Abe a kiss on his forehead. "See you in the morning for pancakes…" Then she paused for a moment. "You, too, Patrick," she whispered softly as she gently brushed a few stray strands of Abe's dark hair off his face. She made her way back out into the lounge room, put her mother's DVD of The Flying Nun in the machine and lay down on the sofa. Half an hour later, with the video still playing, Grace drifted into a fitful sleep. And we dreamt…

CHAPTER 19 – The Gathering

Jackson parked his car in the street, directly outside the Coffee Bean café. Tony was already there with Sonndra and Andrew. Clair walked up to the table, carrying a tray with three coffee mugs. She placed a mug in front of each of them. "Are you ready to order something to eat yet?" she asked Tony pointedly, ignoring the arrival of Jackson and Amber.

Tony shook his head. "Not just yet, thanks."

Clair smiled. Her feelings for Tony had slowly started to escalate since her breakup with Jackson. She had been wondering if she should just let nature take its course, or be more of a free-spirited kind of girl and tell Tony how she felt. "Let me know when you're ready," she said, aware that her sentence could be interpreted in two ways. That was, if Tony was smart enough to notice. She glanced across the table at Joshua and Angela. "Coffee for you guys?"

"Sure," Joshua answered, dragging out a chair from the table next to Andrew.

"I'll just have bottled water, please," Angela replied, sitting down in the chair that Joshua pulled out beside him for her.

"Two coffees here as well, thanks," Jackson called. "Where's your brother?" he asked, looking at Tony.

Clair grunted at Jackson's order and glared at Amber before disappearing into the café.

Tony shrugged. "Said he'd catch up a little later, had things to do," he replied.

"Must be crap, Clair still working here since you dumped her," Andrew said. "No more free coffees for you…" Then he chuckled. "What's the bet she spits in yours and Amber's coffee now?"

"For sure she does." Tony added laughing. He brought the mug of coffee to his lips, took a sip then frowned and took a sniff. Frustrated, he abruptly slammed the mug down on the table with a heavy thud.

Amber scowled at Andrew. "That's disgusting, and she'd lose her job," she said, watching Tony as he shoved the mug away. She thought about the numerous times she had drunk coffee at the Bean since Jackson and Clair's break up. And when she thought about it, Clair had always had a smug look on her face. She grimaced at the thought, and tried to recall if there had been a time when the flavor of the coffee had tasted different than it usually did. She had hoped that things would settle down with Clair, and they could be friends again, since Clair had started to show an interest in Tony. And maybe they would, if only Tony wasn't so oblivious to Clair's feelings. She was almost finding it impossible not to tell him herself, but she didn't want to take a chance of stepping on Clair's toes. She sighed; she would just have to let the situation take care of itself.

"Yeah, but I bet that's a risk she's willing to take," Andrew said, smiling. "You know what they say, a woman scorned, and all that…"

Amber gave Jackson a prod. "Will you please change my order to bottled water instead, and make sure it's still in the bottle. With the lid still on…" Jackson frowned at her. "Please…" Amber pouted, kissing him affectionately on the cheek. She glanced at Tony and tried to send him a telepathic message. Clair likes you, you imbecile. Now start paying attention so I can drink coffee here again!

Tony looked at the odd expression on Amber's face. "What's up with you?" he asked, leaning back in his chair. She shook her head and turned away. Maybe she could leave a note in his locker at school.

Jackson thought about Clair, too. He knew that she hadn't forgiven him yet for dumping her to go out with Amber. So eating elsewhere was probably not a bad idea for a while. "Okay," he said, pushing his chair back and standing. "I suppose you don't want to eat here now, either?"

Amber shook her head. "Not really. Why can't we just go next door to O'Regan's and eat there. Or the Pizza Place?" she added.

Jackson shrugged. "Fine by me, everyone else happy to eat at O'Regan's?" he asked. Nods of agreement spread around the table.

"Not me, I'm working tonight, so I'll have the privilege of serving you slackers. Maybe I'll spit in your food," Tony said, glaring at his mug of coffee. "The coffee's gone to shit here. Anyone else's taste like crap?"

Sonndra took a sip of hers. "Tastes the same as it always does. There's nothing wrong with it."

Jackson laughed at Tony's pained expression. "Maybe Clair's spitting in yours, too."

Tony shrugged. "I never broke her friggin heart. She doesn't have a beef with me."

Amber bit her lip then added quietly. "That's because she likes you." But her voice was drowned out by a bus tooting its horn at a dog standing in the middle of the road.

Angela leaned over to Joshua and whispered in his ear. "I just want to go to the florist before it closes. I have a friend working there now. I'll be back in just a few minutes."

"Sure, no worries," Joshua said, wondering who Angela's new friend was. He watched her walk across the street, push the door open and go inside. A little bell jingled, announcing her arrival. Above the doorway the sign read, Mother Nature's Pantry – Florist and Herbal Remedies.

"So," Tony said, looking at Joshua. "Where's Grace tonight? I thought she'd be here with you guys for sure. You three are usually joined at the hip like inseparable triplets. The Three Musketeers." He raised an imaginary sword above his head.

"Babysitting," Joshua replied, taking the mug of coffee Clair offered him.

Tony nodded. "So she definitely isn’t coming tonight, then?"

Joshua shook his head. "No she definitely isn't coming. Why, is there something you want me to tell her?"

"Nope, it's all good, just wondering. Like I said, you three are normally joined at the hip."

"And here's Angela's water…" Clair said, putting the bottled water on the table next to Joshua.

"Hey Clair, what's up with the coffee? It tastes like shit," Tony said irritably.

"Nothing's wrong with the coffee, meathead," she replied. "Quit smoking. Your taste buds are probably stuffed."

"Thanks," Joshua said to Clair as he took a sip of his coffee. "Oh, hey, Clair," he said, putting the mug down quickly and standing up. He ushered her away from their table so he could talk privately with her. "I don't suppose you know the name of the new girl who's working at Mother Nature?"

"Yeah, her name's Holly, some Irish chick. She seems okay. Why do you want to know?" she asked.

"Oh, no, it's nothing. I just wondered what her name was, that’s all."

Clair gave him a sly smile. "It's about time you started looking elsewhere."

Joshua frowned at her. "What do you mean? Started looking elsewhere?"

Clair let out a sigh and shook her head. She could not understand Joshua's continual obsession with Angela. Not once had she seen anything that indicated that Angela's feelings toward Joshua were anything more than those of a good friend. "You and Angela … seriously? When are you going to let that go? You know it's never going to happen with the two of you, don't you? You're flogging a dead horse. And not just any dead horse, a skeletal horse that’s been rotting in the ground for God knows how long."

Joshua took in a sharp breath and stepped back, as though Clair's comment had physically assaulted him somehow. "Maybe, maybe not," he replied obstinately.

She shook her head. "Then you are a bigger idiot than-"

Joshua cut her off, "Than you are?" he said, leaning closer. "Everyone knows you aren’t over Jackson."

"That’s different," she said, glaring back at him. Behind Clair's sharp rebuttal, however, Joshua saw tears pooling in her eyes, and he sighed. He felt bad for bringing up her relationship with Jackson. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. I just wanted to know about the girl. That’s all. If maybe I knew her, or something?" Joshua said, offering Clair a napkin from the vacant table. He hadn't meant to make her cry. He liked Clair; she never beat around the bush, and usually said what was on her mind. She reminded him of Angela in that way. Angela usually vocalized her opinions at any given time, without regard of how her words might affect others. He'd felt sorry for Clair when he heard how Jackson had dumped her with just a text message. Sure, Clair had thrown up on him at a party. But it still wasn't a nice way to dump someone, and he had told Jackson as much the next day. Jackson had listened and said that he would apologize to her, but Joshua had never known if he actually ever had.

Clair shook her head and dragged a finger under her bottom eyelashes to remove any dislodged mascara. "You didn't upset me… I'm just tired. Mom and Dad kept me up half the night arguing. I think they're going to get a divorce. I don't really care one way or the other; I just wish they'd make up their minds and get it over and done with. Anyway, Holly only arrived about a week or so ago, so I doubt you know her. Riley, her brother, has just started work as a delivery boy."

"Oh yeah? Where?” Joshua asked.

"The Pizza Place," Clair said, wiping a cloth quickly over the vacant table, then checking the salt and pepper shakers to see if they needed refilling.

"Clair!" called her balding boss from inside the café. "Table three," he said, pointing with an empty water bottle at a couple that had just sat down. She nodded in understanding. "I have got to go."

Okay, thanks, Clair," Joshua said, giving her a nod. She gave him a quick smile over her shoulder as he returned to his seat and took a sip of his coffee. Over the rim of the mug, he noticed Angela exiting the florist shop and shoving a small bag into her pocket. She stopped on the edge of the pavement and waited for the passing traffic, then walked out onto the street. She smiled when she noticed Joshua watching her. He returned her smile, and wondered why Angela hadn't told him about this new friend of hers. He would ask Grace tomorrow. She would know.

Angela pulled out her seat and sat down next to Joshua. "So," she said. "Have I missed anything?"

Joshua shook his head. "Nope," he said, sliding the bottled water across the table toward her. "Just your water." Then after a moment he asked, "Everything okay with your friend?"

Angela unscrewed the cap of her bottled water. "Yes, everything is fine," she said, putting the bottle to her lips and taking a drink.

CHAPTER 20 - Steal The Light

Gary threw his backpack onto the rear seat of his old four-wheel drive, thankful that he hadn’t been sent to another emergency. He hated being late and letting Ambrosia down. He had a huge bunch of flowers, all of Ambrosia’s favorites, sitting on the hood of his car. A voice behind him startled him, and he spun around.

Wade held his hands up. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sneak up on you."

"No, don't worry, it's just me… all this stuff with..." he shrugged, "I guess it's just starting to get to me."

"Hard for it not to," Wade said, shoving his hands deep in his pockets.

"It's getting worse, isn’t it?" Gary said, raking his fingers through his hair.

Wade nodded, "Yep. I've got this gut feeling that things are just about to get a lot worse. The attacks have been escalating for quite a while now. The deaths used to be pretty well disguised, covered up and made to look like accidents. Their tracks were being covered very carefully. And now, well, they're either getting careless or they just don't care."

Gary nodded. "I felt the ripple yesterday, someone powerful has arrived. Was it one of theirs or one of ours, do you know?"

Wade let out a breath. "If it was one of ours, they are keeping quiet about it, and that wouldn't make sense. My money is on it being one of them. I hope I'm wrong, but I don’t think I am." The two men fell silent for a moment, and then Wade raised his eyebrows and changed the subject. "Nice flowers, what’s the occasion?" he asked, leaning against the side of Gary’s car.

Gary slipped his hand into his pocket, pulled out a small blue satin box, and flicked it open. "I’ve been dying to tell someone all day. I’m going to ask Ambrosia to marry me tonight. I’m on my way there now," he said, studying the ring before turning the box toward Wade.

"Very nice, she'll love it," he said.

"Yep," Gary nodded, putting the satin ring box back in his pocket. "I think she'll love it, too. It used to belong to Dina, Sol's wife. She always intended Ambrosia to have it someday. And, well, today is as good a day as any."

"Ambrosia is a great girl, you are lucky to have found her," Wade said, shaking Gary’s hand, "I hope I’m invited to the wedding."

"Actually, I was thinking about asking you to be my best man."

"Absolutely," Wade said. "I’d be honored. When’s the big day?"

Gary put the flowers gently on the back seat then climbed in behind the steering wheel. He pushed the key into the ignition and turned it. "She has to say yes first," he said, raising his voice over the grumble of the engine.

"Good, let me know when, and I'll be there," he said, waving to Gary as he reversed the vehicle out of the car park and into the street.

Wade stood there alone for a moment in the deserted car park and thought about the women that he and Brian had loved. Still loved... he sighed. He wanted so much not to have to hide his feelings from Kate. But he could not honestly determine whose feelings for her were more dominant, his or Brian's. And then there was Natalie, the woman that had been the love of his life and the mother of his children. Not a day passed that he did not think of them.

A horde of moths fluttered their wings in a frenzied panic at the street light high above his head. He watched for a moment as the moths fought against themselves to steal the light. What was it in the light that made them swarm in such a frenzy, he wondered. Then he shoved his hands deep in his pockets and walked away, acutely aware of the restlessness he felt building in his gut.

CHAPTER 21 – End Of Days

"They're here!" the voice shouted in Ambrosia’s head, waking her instantly from her restless sleep. She rubbed her face in her hands and heard the guttural sound of a dogfight coming from somewhere downstairs in the complex car park. She jumped up and made her way onto the balcony, then stared up into the starless night sky that hung overhead, dark and unmoving. The calm before the storm… Ambrosia thought and shivered, despite the humidity, and backed herself indoors, closing the glass sliding doors behind her. She went back to the sofa and turned on the television. Then instantly she felt ill, and beads of sweat began to blister on her forehead. She dragged herself back off the sofa and into the bathroom to splash cold water on her face. She gripped the hand basin so tightly that her knuckles turned white. A profound feeling of emptiness moved through her. Memories of her parents, Sol and Dina, flashed through her mind. "No, no, no," she told herself out loud. "This is nothing like that." She shook her head and started to think about one of the last conversations that she had had with Gary, and she smiled, in spite of the nausea turning her insides to liquid.

* * *

They had watched a movie based on the popular belief that the Mayan calendar predicted the end of the world on the 21st of the 12th, 2012. Ambrosia had wanted to watch it because it had the actor John Cusack in it. Gary had wanted to watch it because he was obsessed with end of the world action movies.

Gary said jokingly. "Now that is the perfect date for a wedding. The 21st of December 2012. We can max out all the credit cards, because we won’t have to pay any of them back..." Then abruptly he paused, wondering if he should be joking about such serious things as the end of days. He looked at Ambrosia, then smiled. He thought about how much he loved her, how being with her was all that mattered. All that ever mattered.

"What is it?" she asked pensively, noting the seriousness beneath his smile.

He shook his head and continued. "After I make an honest woman out of you-"

"And about time, too," Ambrosia said, pretending to scowl.

He pushed her long brown hair off her face, and continued. "We can then spend the rest of our lives in bed, where I will make wild passionate love to you until the end of days."

Ambrosia frowned, then wrestled Gary off the sofa and onto the floor, where she promptly rolled on top of him, laughing and squirming as he tickled her.

"And what if the world doesn’t end?" she said, between giggles. "Your plan would be foiled then, wouldn’t it? No house, one kid, and a runaway bride. I’d take the kid with me, of course, because you’d be at the pub every night trying to win your money back on the pokies to pay off your credit cards. Don’t think for one moment that I would stick around to bail you out, either. You’d end up a smelly old homeless bum on a beach somewhere, drinking yourself into an early grave. Or maybe you wouldn’t need a grave, maybe the hermit crabs and fish would finish you off."

Gary held her face tight in his hands and became suddenly serious. "Really? Would you really take off? Take our kid and just disappear?"

Ambrosia stopped laughing and wrapped her arms around the back of his neck and held herself against him. "I’d stick around, and I’d kick your backside out of the pub every night if I had to. And we would have two kids, a boy and a girl. And we would live in a rented house until the day we died for all I care. As long as I’m with you, I don’t care where we live. I don’t need a big house to love you. I just need a happy one."

* * *

Ambrosia smiled at the memory, and looked at her watch. It was well after nine o’clock now. He has been a lot later than this, she told herself, inhaling a long, slow breath in an attempt to dispel the sudden urge to vomit. Then an uncontrollable spasm shot through her, and she retched into the hand basin.

A bang on the front door startled her, but she felt relieved. That would be Gary now, she told herself. She looked at her ghostly reflection in the mirror. She shook her head, relieved with the thought that Gary had probably just forgotten his key. She quickly ran her fingers through her hair, dried her face with a towel, and quickly applied a fresh layer of lipstick. She still had the nauseous feeling swirling in her gut, something wasn't quite right; the knock was more urgent than it should have been. "You're just being paranoid," she told her reflection. Then she put a smile on her face, and ran to answer the door.

CHAPTER 22 – Requiem For A Dream

It was dark night, a very dark night. The kind of dark where the shadows can play tricks on your mind, and you start seeing things, whether they are there or not. Even your hearing becomes more acute, and you begin to hear noises that may, or may not, be there.

Crickets chirped in the nearby trees. A sultry breeze coming in off the ocean whispered gently to leaves as it danced through the treetops. On the other side of the locked gates, the car park was dark and deserted. Only the bright flood light illuminating the military museum's opening hours sign on the side of the concrete building pierced the smothering darkness. The rising hum of an approaching vehicle drowned out the ear-piercing choir of the noisy crickets.

The headlights of the vehicle wove slowly along the deserted road and came to a gradual standstill, lighting up the rectangular sign on the gates. It read: No vehicles past this point after closing hours. Trespassers will be prosecuted. Moments later, a second car pulled up alongside the first.

The headlights on both vehicles died, leaving them cloaked in a somber darkness. Then the engines became silent. Front and rear doors creaked open. Four silhouetted bodies spilled out of the first car, then another three out of the second. They formed a close group and began to discuss their plan of attack.

Fifteen minutes passed. "They shouldn't be too much longer," Andrew said, pacing back and forth impatiently.

Jackson looked at his watch. "Where the hell are they? They should be here by now... so much for safety in numbers," he mumbled.

Sonndra eased herself up onto the hood of Andrew's car and leaned back against the windshield. "Well I don’t care if the Goths turn up or not, but Eric and Tony are real slackers if they don't show. It was Tony's bright idea to do this."

Joshua leaned against the car next to Angela. "Maybe Tony's shift just finished late?"

They all nodded, happy with this explanation of Tony's and Eric's lateness.

Andrew jumped up next to Sonndra on the hood of the car. "I agree; the Goths are total freaks… especially Lyssa..."

"They're all freaks, if you ask me," Clair added, pulling the hood of her sweatshirt over her crop of short, platinum blonde hair.

"Come on!" Jackson moaned with impatience to no one in particular, before letting his gaze rest on Andrew.

"Hey, don't blame me, man," Andrew replied. "Tony told me that he was going to pick up Eric after he finished his shift and be right behind us..."

Sonndra wriggled closer to Andrew. "I think Eric is seeing someone."

Andrew rolled his eyes. "I'm telling you he's not. If he was seeing someone, we would all know about it. He'd be bragging about it big-time, and the whole school would know about it. Remember Monica? She dumped Eric because he couldn't keep his big mouth shut."

Sonndra shrugged. "Maybe he has learned his lesson…"

Joshua chuckled. "I'd like to meet the woman who could teach Eric a lesson…"

"Yeah," Andrew chimed in. "She'd have to be an Amazon woman."

"Maybe we should just leave," Amber suggested, as a breeze coming in off the ocean picked up and scuttled a mass of dead leaves across the dusty car park. She shuddered as the leaves whipped around her ankles, and snuggled up closer to Jackson.

"We'll give them another few minutes, then we'll just go in. We should check out the gun turrets first," Andrew suggested, looking across at the large, round, concrete structure looming out of the dark.

"Forget the gun turrets. Where do you think Mr Munroe's body was found?" Sonndra asked, pulling Andrew's arm around her.

"Could be anywhere, really. There’s over two hundred hectares, thirty of which is natural forest bush land. But I believe it happened over there," she said, pointing toward a patch of dense forest with taller trees.

"She's probably right," Andrew said. "I mean, he hung himself, so wouldn't he need a tallish tree to do that?"

"Not really," Clair said, joining in. "Don't forget about that singer that hung himself on a doorknob."

"I want to go home," Amber whined.

"That's it, I'm going in," Clair said, pulling her parka closed over her chest. "Who's with me?"

"I'm in... come on, Sonndra," Andrew said, grabbing her hand and sliding her off the hood of the car behind him. They followed Clair around the side of the gate and into the car park.

"No, wait. I've got a flashlight," Jackson said, grabbing one from the glove compartment. "I don’t suppose anyone else thought to bring one?" They all shook their heads. "Great, so we only have one flashlight then? Lotta good that's going to do. Now we'll have to stick together."

Amber's head spun around to look at Jackson in astonishment. "Good! I think we should all stick together... safety in numbers, remember? That's what you said."

Joshua looked at Angela. "You okay? You're not scared, are you?"

Angela frowned at him as though seeing something that was completely foreign to her. "Of course I'm not scared!" she scoffed. "What on earth is there to be scared about, getting attacked by mosquitoes, tree branches… the Poinciana Woman?" she said, sliding off the hood of Jackson's car. "You don't really believe in that nonsense, do you, Josh?" Then she had another thought and she smiled despite herself. "Are you frightened, Josh?"

Joshua shook his head obstinately. "Absolutely not… I know the story isn’t true," he said, folding his arms and leaning against Jackson's car. "I just thought it would be fun to come along. That's all."

"Well, I'm ready," Jackson announced eagerly. "The others will just have to come and find us when they get here. Come on Amber, let's go," he said, testing the capabilities of his flashlight. He shone the beam around the deserted car park, then along the thick treeline. "Everyone ready?" he asked, shining the light under his chin and making a ghostly noise.

Andrew slapped the flashlight away from Jackson's chin. "Man, you are so not scary. That wouldn’t even get a rise out of my kid brother."

Amber still had hold of Jackson's arm. "I don't know. I really don’t think this is a good idea…"

"Leave her, then, to look after the car," Clair suggested, striding toward the thick treeline with Andrew and Sonndra in tow. "She can stay here and wait for the others. If they turn up, that is." Clair added slyly, casting fear into Amber's mind.

Amber looked around and considered her options. The first option was to stay in the deserted car park by herself; the second option was to go with the rest of them into the dark forest. She wasn't pleased with either of her choices. "Okay, then. I'll go," she said, reluctantly.

"That's my girl," Jackson said, grabbing her hand enthusiastically and pulling her along after him. They all began to walk through the deserted car park toward the dark treeline, with only Jackson's flashlight to guide them.

"Ouch," Amber squealed.

"What is it?" Jackson asked shining the torch in her face.

She shielded her eyes with her hand. "Get that flashlight out of my face," she grumbled, pushing it way. "I'm frigging being eaten alive by blood-sucking mosquitoes." She swatted her leg. "I don’t suppose anyone brought any insect repellant?"

Angela looked at Joshua with one of her 'I told you so' expressions on her face. He shrugged and smiled.

Clair began sprinting toward the forest. "Come on," she shouted as she disappeared out of sight into the shadows. "I thought I saw someone…" Andrew hesitated for a moment, then ran after her.

Angela came to an abrupt halt, forcing Joshua to run into the back of her. "Wait!" she called out holding her hand up. "I have a bad feeling about this…"

"What are you talking about, what is it?" Joshua asked scanning the dark forest.

Amber clung to Jackson. "Listen to Angela, something isn’t right. We shouldn't go in... Please, Jackson, can we just go home," she begged, tugging on his arm. "Please… let's just go…"

"No, wait," Joshua said. "We can't just leave. We have to go find them."

There was a strange noise, and they all froze. A flapping noise came from the treetops, followed by a high-pitched screeching sound. Then an ominous cloud-like mass flew out over them. Jackson spun around, shining the flashlight into the sky, slicing it though the darkness like a luminous sword.

"It's nothing, Obi-Wan Kenobi," Joshua said to Jackson. "It's just a flock of harmless flying foxes."

Jackson put one leg out in front of him, bent his knees, and then began to fight an imaginary opponent with his torchlight. "Oh, but I sensed an unpleasant disturbance in the Force, young Jedi," he said, quoting the lines from a Star Wars movie. He followed the path of the flying foxes across the ink-black sky with the beam of his flashlight. "But yes," he concluded. "Just harmless flying foxes. These are not the droids we are looking for."

Angela was completely perplexed, and looked from Joshua to Jackson. "Flying foxes are not harmless," she announced. "Haven't you ever heard of the Hendra virus? Look it up sometime," she said, scanning the forest to concentrate on the sounds only she could hear.

"Clair, Andrew!" Jackson shouted. "Get back out here now!"

"It was probably just Clair or Andrew that disturbed the bats," Sonndra offered.

"No, it wasn't," Angela said, shaking her head emphatically.

"Clair, Andrew!" Sonndra shouted this time. Her shout was met with a bloodcurdling scream.

"That was Clair," Jackson said. Then there was a rustle of bushes, and Andrew stumbled out and fell onto his hands and knees on the ground.

"Oh my god," Sonndra screamed, running toward him. "His face is covered in blood… what happened, where's Clair? Andrew, talk to me… please!"

They all ran to Andrew, except Angela. They stared into his face in horror; his eyes bulged open wide with fear. "It was her. The Poinciana Woman… it was horrible. She's got Clair!" Then he buried his face in his hands, rolled onto his back and shook, as though he was having a seizure.

"Andrew, Andrew, my God, what happened, where's Clair?" Sonndra shouted, rolling him on his side. They all crowded around, wondering how they could help.

"Here, put this under his head, so he doesn’t hurt himself." Joshua said, handing Sonndra his pullover.

Then Andrew stopped shaking, rolled onto his back, and stared up blindly into the sky. "She… she… monster... and she attacked us…" He buried his face in his hands again, and started sobbing.

"We should call for help," Joshua said, holding up his phone, searching for a signal. "Shit, no signal. Anyone got a signal?" They all reached for their phones and held them up, frantically searching for a signal. "Nothing," they replied.

"Give me your keys, Jackson," Joshua said.

Jackson was speechless, staring at Andrew in shock.

Sonndra began to cry as she tried to comfort Andrew. "You'll be okay. You'll be okay," she said, tears running down her face.

"Jackson, car keys," Joshua repeated, louder this time. "I'll go and get help," he said, looking around. "Oh no, where's Angela? Angela? Oh shit, Angela's gone now, too…"

Andrew sat bolt upright then. "Maybe the Poinciana Woman has them both. Maybe she isn't just into guys," he said, straight-faced. Then, seconds later, he broke down into fits of laughter.

Sonndra pushed him over. "You idiot, you had us scared to death. And what is that all over your face if it isn't blood?" she asked, glaring down at him.

"Tomato sauce from O'Regan's," he said, wiping it off his face with the sleeve of his jacket. "You should have seen your faces... epic..."

Amber walked over to him and kicked him in the back.

"Ouch, cut it out," he said, slapping her foot away. "We were just mucking around…"

"You're a total wanker, you know that! We should just leave you both here," Sonndra said, wiping her tears away.

"So where is Clair, then?" Jackson asked, shining the torch back into the thickest part of the forest.

"Who cares," Amber muttered. "I'm going home, are you coming?" she asked, looking at Jackson.

"Clair's in on it," Andrew said, holding his sides from laughing. "We planned the whole thing at the Bean, Friday after school…"

Joshua started walking toward the treeline. "Jackson, give me your torch. We can't go anywhere until we find Angela and Clair."

"Maybe Angela is in on the joke, too," Sonndra said.

"Seriously?" Joshua asked. "This is Angela we're talking about. And Angela doesn't joke. Ever."

Another scream tore through the trees, scuttling another flock of flying foxes into the night sky. "Give it up, Clair. The joke's over, so you may as well come out..." Andrew shouted. Nothing... Then suddenly another scream shrilled out, and not just any scream, but a bone-chilling scream that sent goosebumps down their spines.

* * *

Grace flinches sporadically as she sleeps curled up on the sofa, lost in the dream.

I am hiding behind a tree, and I am being very still, very quiet. I hold my hand over my mouth so no one can hear me. I don't want to risk giving away my secret hiding place. Suddenly, someone grabs me from behind, and I scream. It is my brother. I am five years old, and I am playing hide and seek with my brothers and sisters. "I've found her… you can all come out now…" he says, swinging me around. I squeal in absolute delight.

Suddenly, I am standing in a church. The Church has proclaimed that I am one of the chosen ones. I am the voice, the voice of heaven. My dreams, my visions are a Gift from God. Although some of the time this Gift they speak of does not feel like a gift at all. My parents look at me proudly as we stand there; they are joyous with the news the Benedictine Nuns have bestowed upon them. So I smile, too, with the knowledge that I have a Gift. And not just any gift… I am 'The Gift' from God. How marvelous…. I just adore gifts.

Everyone looks upon me as I pass, with gentle eyes and a slight tilt to their heads as they whisper the words, "The Gifted One."

A moment later my vision shifts, and I am slightly older. Eight now, I think, and I am being handed over to a gaggle of God-fearing nuns. A sob bursts from my trembling lips; tears are streaming down my cheeks. I am frightened. I do not want to go, so I cling desperately to this family, that I know in my heart loves me. So why are they doing this to me? Why are they pushing me away? They are my brothers, my sisters, and my mother. They call out my name, and for a moment I am disoriented, confused… they are calling to me. However, they do not call me by my name, Juliette. They are calling me by another name, and at that moment I also realize they are speaking in German. Hilda, Hilda, Hilda! Suddenly the awareness of who I was wakes me, and I remember. I am Hilda. My name is Hilda. I am in Germany, and it is 1103 A.D.

"Please Mama, don’t let them take me. What is it that I have done that displeases you so? Please, I will be good. I promise. I will sing for you." I seize my mother’s arm in a desperate grip and collapse to the ground, begging reverently for exoneration. However, my plea falls on deaf ears. Mama is shaking her head at me. I have been offered up as an oblate to the church, my soul for charity. My mother lifts me to my feet. "Go, child," she begs, as she pushes me away. "You belong to God now." She pries my small fingers, one by one, from her arm. "You must know the ways of the Lord our father, before you can save our souls."

"What about me, who will save my soul?" I search the small crowd that has gathered around. My eyes are wild with fear. I look for the boy. Surely, he will save me? But he is nowhere to be seen. Please come for me, I pray silently. "Please save me," I scream.

* * *

Another scream… "I don't think she's joking around this time," Jackson said, as he and Joshua started to run toward the ominous treeline and into the forest.

"Jackson. No. Please don't do this. It's just Clair playing another one of her stupid games!" Amber called out after him, stamping her feet on the ground.

"Just wait there!" Jackson called over his shoulder as he disappeared into the shadows only seconds behind Joshua.

"You go left. I'll go right," Joshua called to Jackson.

"But we've only got the one flashlight," Jackson replied.

"You keep it!" Joshua shouted, running deeper into the forest. "I don't need it." And he didn't. As soon as the darkness closed around him, his eyes adjusted, and he could see every detail perfectly. He brushed back branches as if they were nothing more than fragile twigs, and ran deeper into the forest. He had to find her, his Angela. Underfoot, a spark flew, and ignited the dead leaves. Within moments, a fire blazed a trail behind him and quickly began to spread, jumping from one tree to another, and then another, and another.

* * *

My father holds me gently for a moment and whispers. "Give yourself to God; find the Holy Trinity, my child, go." Then abruptly he holds me at arm’s length and instructs the Benedictine nuns to take me. I struggle and look back over my shoulder at my father, and beg for mercy, for forgiveness for a crime that I know not of. I turn to look at the forest where I used to play hide-and-seek with my brothers and sisters, but the tree branches are all twisted, bent, and shaped into giant crucifixes. Then hundreds of angels descend from the heavens, and one by one they shoot fiery arrows into the trees, and the trees burst into hungry flames.

A foreboding storm begins to congregate overhead. A tempest of burning leaves and smoke is swept up, littering the angry sky. My brothers and sisters huddle around my parents, weeping, but they do not offer me any salvation from my captors.

Behind my family, I see the boy. The boy, the boy at last! I search my memory for his name, but it eludes me. He is my childhood companion, my brave, brave knight, my fire-breathing dragon slayer. I reach out for him, and he advances, but Father restrains him. "Be still, boy, let her go. This is her destiny." The boy struggles for a moment, and then bows his head and is still.

My heart sinks, my knees buckle, and the torturous, searing pain in my head resumes once again. The voices, the visions that I witness, that have been called my destiny, my Gift, are nothing more than a blessed curse.

I fear I will never again look into the beautiful eyes of the boy and find refuge there.

Never experience his hands, his lips touching mine with tenderness, turning me from a child to the woman I am yet to become.

My vision begins to blur, and then abruptly gives way to nothingness. My mind shifts, and I drift peacefully on a vast black ocean. I am alone. I am without body, and then in my mind, I see a dark figure rising out of the darkness. His teeth are bared, and I scream…

* * *

Angela edged slowly closer as the hunched predator sank his teeth into Clair's throat. His hands ripped and clawed at her clothing. In his frenzy, he did not notice Angela approaching him stealthily from behind. Then a branch snapped beneath her foot, and his head, independent of his body, swiveled around at an impossible angle to face her. He hissed at her and bared his teeth; his eyes were wide, frantic, and very black, like pools of ink. Angela, in an equally impossible movement, sprang forward, grabbed him by the throat with her fingers, pulled him off Clair, and flung him effortlessly into a tree several meters away, snapping the sturdy trunk. She glanced quickly at Clair, who was lying slumped on the ground. Her eyes were closed, and she was losing a lot of blood, but her heart was beating, and her chest rose and fell with each labored breath.

Seconds later, the assailant sprang back onto his feet with perfect precision. A guttural gurgling sound disgorged from his throat. He lunged forward, running directly at Angela, growling and hissing feverishly. She crouched, ready to retaliate, and then hesitated when she realized she recognized the assailant's face.

It was Tony, Eric's brother. Then her fighting instincts quickly snapped her reflexes back into action. This predator was no longer the Tony that Angela and her friends had known. This Tony was a hunter, a killer. Angela snatched up a branch from the ground, and drove it straight through Tony's chest as he propelled himself toward her. He stumbled backward, but did not fall. He groped at the branch lodged in his ribcage, pulled it out effortlessly, and flung it aside as if it were a mere broken twig. Angela, not doubting his strength for a second, was prepared, and leapt over his head, landing directly behind him.

She knew she only had moments left. Others like him would be nearby. She knew hunters like these traveled in packs, and she could hear footsteps quickly approaching from different directions. She reached up for the back of Tony's head and with one quick flick of her wrists, she broke his neck and let his lifeless, soulless body fall in a heap on the ground at her feet. She looked down and studied his face for a moment. His neck was twisted at a grotesque angle; his eyes were dark and staring. He had recently been turned, possibly only a handful of days ago. She knew, though, that it had been too late to try and save this boy from this fate he did not deserve. The look in his eyes had been manic; there had been no self-control, only the unquenchable desire to feed, to replenish his own recent blood loss. Somewhere on his body, had she had time to look, she knew she would have found two fresh puncture wounds.

She whipped her head around; she could hear dry grass and branches snapping as others began to close in. She quickly sprinted over to Clair; she would have to deal with Tony's body later.

Joshua arrived first, and found Angela kneeling down beside Clair. She had torn off the sleeve of her jacket and had it pressed firmly over Clair's wound. Then suddenly Clair sat bolt upright, her arms thrashing in the air, as if still fighting off her attacker.

"It's okay Clair; it's me, Angela, and Josh. A dog attacked you... you remember? And when I got here it ran off, into the bush…" Angela said softly, but convincingly.

Clair nodded absently. "Yes, a dog. It was a dog that attacked me. It was a really big dog, too," she said, staring at Angela for guidance.

Someone else burst through the smoky shadows, and Angela spun around, poised in a crouched position, ready to fight. Clair scurried off the ground and fell into Joshua's arms. "Get it away from me," she screamed hysterically.

* * *

Tonight, I look deep into the hypnotic eyes of a fair-haired boy. And although his features are not in focus, I still sense that he is beautiful.

Under the muted glow of the dancing flames in the stone fireplace, my body waits eagerly for his exquisite touch. He embraces me and cradles my head against the warmth of his beating chest. Then, gently, he pulls away and brings me to my feet. Slowly, his hands slip the garments from my body, exposing my nakedness to the confines of my tiny fire-lit room. He whispers his eternal love, and I know that he speaks the truth, and I smile. I sink further into my dream, and his words are swept away, down into a fathomless abyss. I am alone now, surrounded by fire. I turn to see a faceless figure coming out of the flames toward me.

* * *

The figure, silhouetted by falling embers and flames, stepped forward and came to a standstill before Clair, Angela, and Joshua. Clair faltered in Joshua's arms and let out a painful moan. "No," she begged. "Not again…"

"It's okay, Clair. It's just me, Jackson," he said, holding up his arms and stepping closer. A tall tree came smashing down behind him, and he lifted his arms and cowered to shelter his body from the burning branches. "We have to get out of here, and quick. This fire is getting worse by the second," he yelled over the increasing roar of the fire.

Angela studied Joshua's face for a moment, and found nothing. She realized he had no idea that he had been the one that had started the fire. This also meant, of course, that he had absolutely no idea how to control it, or extinguish it.

"Make it rain, make it rain, make it rain," Angela chanted quietly to another.

"Come on, Angela," Joshua said, frowning at the curious expression on her face. "You heard Jackson. This fire is getting worse; we really have to get the hell out of here, and now!" He turned around frantically, disoriented, trying to get his bearings. "But which way do we go? We're trapped. This fire has spread everywhere."

* * *

He is back, and he pulls me towards him and out of the darkness. His warm hands glide over my body, and I gasp. He lays me down on my bed and with his perfect lips, he kisses my mouth, my throat and further still.

There is a sound, something is outside, and I stir. My head turns towards the fireplace, and I tell myself it is only the crackling logs that have disturbed me. I hear a faraway voice… "Make, make it, make it…" but I cannot hear the rest of the sentence. The logs in the fireplace burn brighter, higher, louder…

"They are in danger," he purrs into my ear. "You have to help them…" His warm breath tickles my cheek, and I turn to his lips and kiss them before pulling him back down toward me. Outside it has begun to rain, and a cold shiver runs down my spine. "Show them the way," he says, as the darkness pulls me out of his grasp once again. I look up in the darkness and feel tears running down my face, and I smile.

* * *

Angela looked skyward and blinked as a gentle splatter of rain began to fall. "This way..." she said, as she began to walk into the broiling, grey smoke.

"Are you sure?" Joshua asked apprehensively, scanning the burning forest with the hope of discovering a safer route. Another tree fell, and was quickly devoured by the hungry flames.

"Trust me!" Angela yells. "This is the safest way out." Another tree fell, sending a fresh wave of embers high into the air.

"Come on, Clair," Jackson said, taking the girl from Joshua and pulling his jacket over her head to shield her from the elements. "Let's get you out of here." The girl nodded, and sobbed, and clung to his chest. "And Clair," Jackson said. Clair looked up at him, her eyes red and swollen from crying. "I just want to tell you how sorry I am."

"For what?" she asked in a small voice.

"For dumping you by text... that was pretty lousy."

Clair nodded. "Yes it was," she said, ducking to miss a flaming branch as it came crashing down.

"Are you okay?" Joshua asked, studying Angela thoroughly as they ducked and weaved around burning tree branches. "I was so worried about you… oh my God, is that blood, have you been hurt?" He grabbed Angela's wrist and pulled her to a standstill.

Angela held her palms up to let the rain wash over her bloodied hands. Then she gently removed her hand from Joshua's grip and continued to run. "I'm fine, Josh," she said, reassuring him. "Let's just keep moving. And it's Clair's blood, not mine." She looked over her shoulder at Jackson and shouted. "As soon as we get out of here, you and Amber should get Clair to the hospital. And make sure she gets a tetanus shot if she hasn't had one in the last five years. That dog bite is pretty bad."

Jackson nodded and put his arm protectively around Clair's shoulders. "Sure, we can do that."

By the time Angela, Joshua, Jackson, and Clair had pushed through the burning forest and reached the others in the safety of the car park, the rain that had come down in sheets was already starting to subside. The fire, extinguished by the downpour, was now nothing more than a few delicate curls of smoldering grey smoke.

Amber and Sonndra, with mud splattering up on their legs, ran up to Clair and dragged her off to Jackson's vehicle. Once inside, they held her hands and fussed over her wound like a pair of mother hens clucking over an injured chick.

Andrew slapped Jackson on the back and shook Joshua's hand. "Great job, you guys," he said, shaking his head in awe. "For a while there things were getting pretty scary, and we were about to go and get help. That rain sure did arrive at the right time."

Angela, with black soot and hair plastered to her face, made a beeline straight for Andrew's car. She pulled open the back door and climbed in. "If it's okay with everyone, and if this has been enough fun for one evening, then I would really like to go home."

"Should we wait for Tony and Eric?" Andrew asked no one in particular.

"I'm pretty sure they're not coming," Angela replied. And this time, no one questioned her.

* * *

I am lost in the darkness again, only a banging sound disturbs me, and I try to block it out. I want to make it go away, so I can go back to the dream, back to him.

I try to concentrate harder, but it's too late; the dream has already begun to dissolve, and he has gone. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut, and try one last time to retrieve him from the darkness that has concealed him from me. I start to shake. Then I realize that someone is shaking me. "Why," I say. "I don't want to go!" I try to push the hand away.

"Wake up, wake up. Please, you have to wake up! There's someone at the door," a little voice says in an urgent whisper.

I am awake now, and I sit bolt upright to find that my vision is a blur of snowy white dots. I hear the banging again. Only this time I hear it clearly, and it is the television screen I am looking at, not a snowy vision of white light from a dream. There is a young boy, Abe, standing beside me, shaking me with one of his little hands, and in the other, he grasps an old wooden toy sword. Outside, the rain is pelting down like a thousand fists drumming on the corrugated roof overhead.

This is not a dream…

CHAPTER 23 – Knock, knock!

"Don't open it," Abe begged in a frightened little voice as he gripped the wooden sword firmly in his hand. "There's a monster out there…"

Grace turned off the television and tossed the remote on the coffee table. She missed, and it fell to the floor. "You've just had a bad dream, Abe. That’s all." She ruffled his hair. "Me, too… I'll get you a glass of milk; that will help you get back to sleep, chase the nightmares away. I'll have one, too." Grace stood up, the television screen flicked on, and a woman screamed. "Hell!" Grace shrieked. "That scared the hell out of me." She reached down, picked up the remote from under her foot and showed it to Abe. "See, there's your monster," she said, pointing at the television screen with the remote, just as a woman was being attacked by Count Dracula in a late night movie. She pushed the remote button, turning the television off.

Abe shook his head. "No…that's just a movie. The real monster is outside."

"Who is it?" Grace called, walking to the front door.

The door handle shook just as she reached out to grab it, and she quickly snatched her hand away. The handle shook again, and the voice on the other side of the door said, "You don’t know me, I'm a traveling salesman."

Grace said nothing. She looked over her shoulder at Abe. He shook his head. "Don't open it."

"Come on, it's just me, Grace, open the door, it's pissing down out here."

"See," Grace said, smiling at Abe. "No monster…"

"No, don't open it, please," Abe wailed, from his makeshift fort behind the sofa. "It's a scary monster…"

As soon as Grace unlatched the door, a sudden gust of cold wind and rain ripped the door out of her grasp, throwing it open wide. The unexpected rush of wind and rain pushed her off balance, making her take a step back to steady herself.

A drenched figure, silhouetted by the streetlights, loomed large in the open doorway. "Man, it's really coming down out there tonight, I'm drenched to the bone," Eric said, taking off his jacket.

"Quick, you better come in so I can close the door," Grace said, taking Eric's wet jacket.

"Yeah, thanks," he said, shaking himself off. "That storm came out of nowhere." He looked around the room. "I hope I haven't disturbed you?"

"No, not really. I fell asleep on the sofa, watching television," she said, hanging Eric's jacket over the back of a kitchen chair to dry. "I'm surprised to see you here, though. I thought you were going to East Point to check out the Poinciana Woman with the other guys tonight?"

"Change of plan. Josh told me to meet him here. So, who have we got here?" Eric asked, eyeing the boy half hidden behind the sofa with a wooden sword held up in front of him.

"Oh. This is Abe. Abe, meet Eric, a friend from school." Grace walked over to Abe and put her arm around him. "Abe's just had a nasty nightmare, so I'm about to get him a glass of milk and tuck him back into bed. Abe's having a sleepover, and he's going to help me make pancakes in the morning."

Abe nodded his head and lowered his sword hesitantly.

"Say hello, Abe. Eric plays football, so maybe he could teach you a few moves sometime?" Abe shook his head defiantly. "He's just a bit shy," Grace said, going to the kitchen to pour Abe a glass of milk. "Can I get you something, Eric? A coffee, a cold drink?"

Eric shook his head. "No, I'm good. I'll just wait here while you put the little guy back to bed. Nice Spider Man pajamas," he said. "My little brother had a pair just like them when he was a kid about your age."

Abe raised his sword again as Eric walked slowly toward him. Eric stopped, held his arms up, smiled at the boy, and then sat down on the sofa. Abe stayed put and watched Eric, an uncomfortable feeling growing in his belly, his instincts telling him that Eric could not be trusted.

"Here you go, Abe. Let's get you and your glass of milk back into bed, shall we?" Grace said, taking Abe's hand and leading him back down the hall to her bedroom. "I'll be back in a second, Eric," she called. "Make yourself at home."

Abe watched Eric suspiciously over his shoulder as Grace led him away. He gasped when Eric quickly turned around and glared back at him with a twisted grin on his face.

Eric nodded. "Sure, no worries, Grace, take your time." As soon as Grace and Abe were out of sight, he picked up the remote, turned on the television, and propped his feet up on the coffee table.

"Are you okay, Abe?" Grace asked when she felt Abe's hand tighten in hers.

"I don't like him. He's a baddie," Abe said, sitting down on the mattress to drink his glass of milk.

Grace's curtains flapped fiercely as a howling wind whistled angrily through the partially opened window. She pushed it completely closed, and then locked it.

"Can you leave the light on?" Abe asked as he clasped the sword tightly across his chest.

"Sure," she said, turning on the bedside lamp and flicking off the bedroom light switch. "How's that?"

Abe nodded, and then added. "Will you leave the door open, too?"

She heard the television on in the lounge room, so at least Eric was being entertained while he waited. "Would you like me to sit and read to you for a little while?" Grace asked, sitting down on the mattress beside him.

He nodded, and she picked up one of his books and started reading to him until he fell back to sleep.

She smiled, picked up the empty glass, and blew the sleeping boy a kiss. "Sweet dreams, Abe," she whispered, leaving the bedroom door ajar.

"Eric, are you sure I can't get you a coffee or-" Grace stopped mid-sentence and looked around the empty living room and the kitchen. Eric's jacket was still hanging over the kitchen chair where she had left it. Perhaps he had got tired of waiting and had gone home without it. She flicked the television back off and washed Abe's empty glass in the sink. Then she refilled the glass with water and drank it while she stood looking out the kitchen window. Angela's house was still in complete darkness except for the light that shone brightly at the front door.

She felt a chill, then a warm breath on the back of her neck, and she gasped when she saw the reflection of a face in the kitchen window staring back at her. She dropped her glass in the sink, smashing it, and spun around to look directly up into empty black eyes.

Her heart thumped; she held her breath, and then slowly exhaled. "Jesus, Eric… you scared the hell out of me," she said, sliding along the kitchen bench to put some distance between them. He moved along with her, keeping her pinned against the bench.

"Eric, what are you doing?" she asked. She didn't want him to know that he was starting to frighten her by his odd behavior. "I'm going to make myself a coffee, are you sure I can't make you one, too?"

He shook his head slowly, his eyes not leaving hers. Gradually the twisted smile on his face turned up into an intimidating smirk. She tried to push him, to get past him, but he grabbed her wrists and pinned her up against the kitchen bench.

"I think you should go, Eric," she said, trying to break free from his grip. He leaned in and sniffed her hair then licked the side of her face. "Let me go, get off me!" she shouted, struggling fiercely in his vice-like grip.

"I'll let you go when I'm ready to let you go. Not a moment before. Do you understand me? And keep your voice down; you don’t want to wake the kid, do you? I don't know what I'd have to do if you woke up the little brat."

"I'm warning you, Eric. You better get out of here or I'll-"

"You'll do what? You've always thought that you were better than me, didn't you? You, Angela the brain, and that wog, Josh. Well not anymore! You see, I've got some new friends. Powerful friends, and we don't ask. We take. And I'm going to take you. I know no one's going to be home for a while. So you and I, well, let's just say we're going to take our friendship to a whole new level."

"What are you talking about? That isn't true; I never thought I was better than you were. You're the one who asked for my number then never called. Now it's too late, so let me go and get out!" Grace hissed through clenched teeth so as not to wake Abe.

He pushed her harder up against the kitchen bench, then leaned in and kissed her. She struggled, trying to turn her face away from him, but he was much too strong for her, so she did the next best thing. Eric's hand snapped up to his mouth and he let out a cry of pain. "You bit me…you bitch," he spat, throwing her across the kitchen. Her head smashed hard against the corner of the refrigerator. She let out a moan on impact, rubbed her head, and slipped down the fridge to the floor. When she pulled her hand away, a smear of blood stained her fingers. She felt dizzy and closed her eyes for a moment, fighting to hang onto consciousness. Why was he doing this to her, she wondered? Was it something she had said, or done? It didn’t make sense. It was as though something had just snapped in his head and he was totally out of control.

Eric walked over to her and dragged her up roughly by the arm. "Come on, up you get, that's it. I feel like dancing, don't you?" He hitched her up and swung her around the kitchen like a rag doll. Then after a few moments, he dragged her over to the kitchen table, pushed her down on top of it and started to unbutton her blouse. "Lets you and I get better acquainted," he said with a smirk on his face and a look in his eye that was nothing less than pure evil.

"Please don't do this, Eric, just go… if you go now I won't tell anybody you were here. Please just-"

"Just shut up," he hissed into her ear. "Didn't anyone ever tell you, you talk way too much?"

"Leave her alone!" Abe shouted from behind Eric with his sword held up ready for battle.

Eric turned slowly around and laughed. "You really should go back to bed, you stupid little boy. Grace and I are just having some fun."

Abe shook his head. "No, you get out. You're a baddie!" he yelled, edging forward. "I'm not afraid of you."

"Well, you should be," Eric spat, lunging at Abe just as Abe thrust his sword forward and shoved it into Eric. A trickle of blood oozed from the wound, and Eric laughed. However, his laughter quickly turned to anger as the timber sword began to burn into his flesh. He abruptly slapped the sword out of the boy's hand, sending both the sword and Abe sailing across the room. Abe hit the far wall and crumpled to the floor. The toy sword, carved from the Ancient Oak, lay on the ground beside him.

"Leave him alone!" Grace screamed as she leapt onto Eric's back. She reached her fingers around his head and scratched his eyes with her fingernails. He reached his arm back and pulled her over his shoulder, flipping her onto the floor like a bag of dirty laundry.

"You don't know when to give up, do you?" he said, straddling her and squeezing her throat with his hands. She looked around frantically for a weapon. Then, under the coffee table, she spotted the second sword, Hope's sword. Her fingers reached out, raking the carpet in an effort to reach it. He shook her again, moving her closer. Then, with one last try, she gripped the handle firmly in her hand and with all of her strength, she brought the toy wooden sword straight up toward Eric's throat.

Eric, anticipating Grace's maneuver, slammed her hand down on the floor. Pain shot through her arm and loosened her grip on the sword, and it bounced out of her reach. "Oh, so you want to play rough, do you?" he snarled through clenched teeth. "Bring it on, bitch."

"Please," Grace said as a sob caught in her throat. "Please, I don't know why you are doing this, I thought we were friends?"

He ignored her pleas. "You play rough, but I play rougher. And only one will win. And sweetheart, that isn’t going to be you. After I'm finished with you, bitch, I'm going to watch you burn," he chuckled maliciously, thinking about his plan.

"And it isn't going to be you, either," came a contemptuous voice from behind Eric. "Now get off her!"

Eric's head snapped around in response, and he positioned himself ready to attack, but he was too slow. Damon already had Eric's head gripped tightly between his hands and swung him around effortlessly, smashing him onto his back. Eric struggled violently in Damon's grasp. However, his strength was no match for Damon's superior capabilities.

"I have friends," Eric spat. "And they won't let you get away with this…"

"Your friends don't give a flying crap about you, my friend; you are nothing more than a lapdog doing their dirty work."

On the far wall Abe scrambled to his feet. "Catch," he called out, tossing Damon his sword. Damon caught the sword midair and without another word drove it into Eric's chest. Eric's eyes widened. His mouth popped open, and for a second he looked bewildered. The Oak sword made a crackling sound as it sizzled in his flesh. Eric convulsed, narrowed his eyes, and said, "She doesn’t know who you are, does she?" He gurgled, and then chuckled as a trail of blood oozed from his mouth. "How long do you think it will take until the others-"

Damon’s fingers squeezed Eric's throat, silencing him. He flashed a glance toward Grace. She was pushing herself along the floor with her feet, as far away from Eric as she could. Her face was pale, her eyes open wide and unblinking. Damon wondered how much she had heard. "Did anyone ever tell you, you talk way too much?" he said, as he twisted the sword deeper into Eric's chest, silencing him permanently.

Grace pushed herself up onto her feet and ran to Abe, wrapping him up in her arms, turning his face away from Eric's dead body on the floor, and moving them both back toward the wall.

Abe tried to struggle free. "It's okay, Grace," he said, looking confidently at Grace. "He was a baddie, and you have to kill the baddies."

Grace looked at Abe in disbelief, wondering why he wasn't afraid after what he had just witnessed. Maybe he was in shock, she thought to herself.

"Yes, Abe, you are probably right," she said, wiping her own tears away. She should call his mother, her mother, Wade, and the police. She looked at Eric's body and the pool of thick blood pooling on the tiled floor, then raised her eyes questioningly to look at Damon. Another vision that she'd seen before flashed through her mind. But this time she saw a face: Damon's face, as he knelt beside a body. This other body was dead, too, and it was Damon she saw in that vision pulling a sword out of a man's chest. Not a toy wooden sword, a long silver sword that reflected the oranges and reds of a blazing fire. She backed further away from him, pulling Abe with her.

He half smiled at her and opened his mouth. "Grace, it –"

She shook her head. "Are you going to try and tell me it isn't what I'm thinking? Because you have no idea what I'm thinking." She didn't really know what she was thinking either. She just knew that she didn't want any part of it. And most of all, she just wanted to make sure nothing happened to Abe. She wrapped her arms more tightly around him.

He squirmed in her grasp. "Grace, I can't breathe."

"Sorry," she murmured, loosening her grip on the boy a fraction.

"Eric was going to kill you, you know that, don't you?" he said, stepping toward her.

She knew that. But for all she knew, Damon was an enemy, too. Apart from Abe, she didn't know whom she could trust. "Don't," she said as he took another step toward her. "Don't come any closer."

"You need to let me explain."

"You don't need to explain anything to me. You need to explain this to the police," Grace said, scanning the room for her phone. She spotted it sitting on the coffee table next to Damon. Too close. Then she considered plan B and contemplated the phone on the kitchen wall. Too far. She didn't have a plan C.

"I'm sorry; I can't let you do that. You need to let me explain -"

"No," Angela said, rushing through the open doorway, her face still blackened with soot and plastered with wet stringy hair. Then she came to an abrupt halt. Her eyes fixed on Eric's body. "Are you okay, Grace?" she asked, shifting her vision from Eric to look directly at Damon.

Grace nodded. "Eric, he went completely nuts. I should have known something wasn't right when he began acting strange," she said, swallowing back tears. "He even threatened to hurt Abe." She looked at Angela's dirty face. "What happened to you?"

"Nothing really," she said absently, looking back down at Eric on the floor. After a few seconds she reached down, took a firm grip on the hilt of the sword, and pulled it effortlessly from Eric's chest as though it was something she had done a million times before. "You take care of that," she said, tilting her head towards Eric's body. "And I will take care of Grace." She turned to look at Abe. "And how are you?" she asked nonchalantly as she ran the sword along the wet leg of her jeans to remove Eric's blood from the timber blade.

Abe broke free of Grace's grasp and walked toward Angela, and in his little voice, he said, "I'm fine, he was a bad guy."

"Good," Angela said. "Why don't you find the other sword and put them both away in a safe place?" Abe nodded agreeably, gathering up the sword that Grace had used and swishing it through the air.

Grace looked completely perplexed as she stared at Abe. He was happily fighting an imaginary opponent in the lounge room. She looked at Damon, who had begun to haul Eric's lifeless body up and over his shoulder, as if he was throwing a beach towel over his shoulder for a day at the beach. Only this beach towel was stained with blood. And then, lastly, her gaze shifted and rested on Angela. Her little elf-like friend was wiping a bloodied sword across her jeans, as though she was wiping strawberry jam off a dirty bread and butter knife. Who are these people, Grace wondered to herself in disbelief. And what have they done with my friends?

CHAPTER 24 - Flowers For Ambrosia

Wade stood in the open doorway and stared into Ambrosia’s smiling face. She glanced down at the bunch of flowers Wade carried in his arms and frowned. Why was Wade bringing her flowers? Then Wade watched as the painful truth began to work its way in, and the blood slowly drained from Ambrosia’s face.

Her hazel eyes liquefied into a pool of tears. "What’s happened, oh God, where’s Gary, where is he, tell me, please," she begged frantically, holding a hand over her mouth.

"I’m sorry, Ambrosia. Gary's-"

"No!" Ambrosia screamed, snatching the flowers from Wade’s hands. "You can’t come here and tell me that, you can’t…" she said, starting to shake uncontrollably.

Wade reached for her to comfort her, to still her. She pushed him back hard on the chest, sending the flowers out of her arms and tumbling to the floor. Wade slammed hard into the wall, buckling the plasterboard sheeting into the shape of his back. The volume of the television grew louder and then the screen exploded, spraying out shattered particles of glass across the room.

Wade sprang forward and grabbed Ambrosia, holding her tight against him as her shaking became stronger, more violent. The room began to shudder, paintings and photographs toppling off the walls. Books, CD’s, and ornaments fell off shelving. Then the glass sliding doors shattered, as a massive crack snaked its way across the tiled floor, popping tiles with a loud cracking sound. The zigzagging snake climbed its way up the wall, leaving an open wound in its wake.

"Ambrosia, stop, concentrate, you can do this. You can control this. You have to control this..." She struggled against him violently, so he tightened his grip around her. "You know what I’m talking about, you’ve always known. Think, Ambrosia, remember, remember, you were a child-"

"Let me go, god damn you!"

"No, not until you stop this. You were just a child… and a young nurse named you Ambrosia…"

Ambrosia took a breath, and then another and another, until her body slowly stopped shaking. The room fell silent, still. "Her name was…" Ambrosia squeezed her eyes shut, trying to remember. Her eyes shot open. "Lucina. Lucina was her name. I remember! I remember thinking that her skin looked like creamy chocolate. And she had the most amazing blue eyes."

"That's right. She named you Ambrosia, after a still-born child she had delivered…" Wade paused, and changed the direction of the conversation. That story was for another day. "She named you Ambrosia because she knew the name represented immortality."

Ambrosia nodded. "Lucina said that if I was brave, I would live forever." She started to cry. "How am I supposed to do that now, without Gary… why would I even want to?" she sobbed.

Wade held her. "It's okay. We will get through this together. I won't let you go. I promise. It is going to be okay. You are going to be fine, Ambrosia."

Wade held her for a long time. When she stopped crying, and the shaking had subsided, he asked her if she was okay. She nodded slowly, and he gently let her go. He wiped her face with the hem of his shirt.

"Who killed him, who took Gary from me?" she demanded, sitting up rigidly.

"The Grigorians," he said simply. "Then they had their beasts finish what they had started." Wade stood. He made his way through the debris scattered on the floor and went to the kitchen. He filled a glass with water and handed it to her. "Drink plenty of water, it helps. You’ve lost a lot of energy. Expelling that amount of power uses up the fluid in your body, dehydrates you, leaves you weak, vulnerable. Coffee is good, too. It helps settle the nervous system. It makes you harder to track. But only drink the brand that Gary has been giving you. It'll help secure you, keep you off their radar as much as possible."

She nodded. "I know it tastes a little different, but what makes it different from normal coffee?"

"Powdered mistletoe, it's added to the coffee beans, among other things. Like chewing gum, tea, flavoring in sauces... You can buy the coffee from the Bean. The coffee shop next to-"

"I know the one," she said, taking the glass of water and swallowing it down all at once. "And the flavor, do the Grigorians know, can they taste it?"

"Depends what it's in and how much of it there is. But if you have it around them, in any form, unbeknown to them, it weakens their abilities. They find the smell obnoxious, so if they do smell it, it repels them. And if it is ingested over a long period of time, it will weaken them to a point that it will eventually kill them. If you really want to watch them squirm, hang it over their heads. It sends them running and they have no idea why."

Ambrosia frowned. "Mistletoe? Just plain old mistletoe? Should I know any of this?" She shook her head, trying to bring down the wall that was blocking her memories.

"It'll all come back to you eventually. Lots of things will," Wade said, leaning against the kitchen counter. "But not just any old mistletoe. It's the Mistletoe that's native to the Forest Of Doors and grows in the branches of the Ancient Oak."

"Altair, I remember! The Forest People, the Celts, the Druids, and Willow." Her memories began flooding back as if the wall to a dam had finally come crashing down, and she continued. "In ancient times, the Druids held a ceremony, five days after the new moon following -"

"Following the Winter Solstice…" Wade said, encouraging her on.

She became animated as her memories kept revealing themselves to her. "The priests, the ancient ones, they would cut the Mistletoe from the sacred Oak with a golden sickle. Then the priests divided up the sprigs and distributed them among the Forest People to protect them from evil. It was used in their hair as decorations, hung above doorways or in wreaths, so the Grigorians couldn't enter."

"The ritual has been passed down over countless centuries," Wade added, "but has mostly been forgotten. Originally though, it was used any time strangers were going to be invited into the home. But now it's only used for Christmas and New Year decorations." Wade bent down and picked up a twig that was nestled amongst the dying flowers spread across the rubble on the floor. He handed it to her. "Gary bought you flowers every week, didn't he?" It wasn’t a question.

Ambrosia took in a breath and nodded, pushing the grief that came bubbling to the surface away. She had to do this. She had to be strong.

"He made sure that mistletoe was in every bunch, to protect you."

"They didn't protect Gary," Ambrosia shot back.

"The flowers were still in the back seat of his car when they attacked him," Wade said quietly.

Ambrosia swallowed back fresh tears. "I’m going to find them, and I’m going to kill them, and I won’t stop until they are all dead," she said, in an emotionless voice.

Wade sat back down. "That’s why we are here," he said, letting out a breath. "Tracking them down has been harder than we had anticipated. And with so many of us still missing, well, it hasn’t been easy."

"Why didn’t Gary tell me, why didn’t you tell me any of this before? I could have helped," Ambrosia said weakly.

"You weren’t ready, Gary knew that. When Sol and Dina died, for example… the next day you wouldn’t talk about what happened at O'Regan's. You blocked it all out. You refused to acknowledge it, your part in it. So we knew it wasn’t time. The human side of you was still too strong."

Ambrosia pushed herself to her feet. "This is my fault. Gary is dead because of me. You should have told me, I would have understood. I could have made a difference, I could have saved him."

"No," Wade said. "You would have just exposed yourself. And it wouldn't have just been Gary that died tonight. Your emotions were still too raw. It isn't about blocking them out. You have to be able to control them."

"Are you telling me that I can’t grieve for-?"

"No." Wade replied. "You can’t, not now. Humans grieve, but we can’t allow ourselves that emotion. Any emotion that is not completely controlled will set us off. As soon as we start to remember who we really are …" Wade waved his hand across the room. "Well, this is the result. And now you remember what happened at O'Regan's, too. That could easily have exposed you."

"The television reports said there was an earth tremor that caused all the damage. Maybe it wasn't me at all..."

"Oh, it was you, alright. We just got lucky when an earth tremor and a faulty gas pipe were blamed for all the damage. That stopped any other questions from being asked. Plus it doesn’t hurt having contacts in the fire department."

She sat back down. "I could have hurt people."

"Yes, you could have, but you didn’t. Not that time."

"And you, what about you?"

"What you see isn’t exactly what you get. Neither are you and neither was Gary," Wade said.

"I can remember the car accident and the little girl now… she was thrown from the car and was going to die. She was so badly injured, so much internal bleeding. Her parents died when the car rolled into the deep ravine and was hidden from sight by the forest. I took her body..." Ambrosia turned toward Wade. "And you, what about you?"

"I was Grace's father; she is a student in your class."

"Brian, you’re Brian Connors?" Ambrosia asked incredulously.

"One and the same, but for all intents and purposes, I am Wade."

"So you aren’t really human anymore, the human part of you, that was Wade?

"Wade's thoughts have all but gone now, just his body remains, and a few fleeting memories of Natalie and his family from time to time. But it isn't anything I can't control. Eventually, he gave himself over completely so he didn't have to relive the loss of his family every day. The grief was destroying him, a little more each day, until there was nothing left. That's when I stepped in. At first, it was difficult. But the more Wade let go, let me take over, the easier it got for both of us. The hardest part has been remembering to call myself Wade."

And every time he'd looked in the mirror to shave, it had been the reflection of a stranger who stared back at him.

He thought about the days that had followed his death. How painful it was to watch Kate and Grace as they grieved for him. How hard it was not to reach out to them and tell them he was still with them. That he would always be watching over them. And then some days, how he had lived through the excruciating grief that Wade felt for the loss of his own family. There had been a brief time when he'd had to leave. Wade's human emotions had begun to resurface, lessening his control. So to protect Kate and Grace, he sent for Angela, and left.

And Grace is -" Ambrosia asked.

"A Wafe," Wade said.

Ambrosia stood up and walked around the shattered apartment, stepping over broken furniture and picture frames. "She doesn’t know?"

"No, she doesn’t, and it has to stay that way, it’s too early, too dangerous. She isn’t ready. She is still reliving the past lives of the soul she is attached to. She hasn't been able to separate herself from her host. She needs to be able to completely take control before she can understand fully what she is and what she is capable of. The damage you see here is nothing compared to the damage a Wafe is capable of unleashing."

"And the other … Wafes?" Ambrosia asked, filling her glass with water and swallowing it down in three gulps. She refilled her glass again and drank it, her throat still dry and parched from dehydration.

"Two are here. One went missing in the same airline crash that Sol and Dina died in. They were over there to secure her, but something went very wrong. The Grigorians learnt that there were two Bulguardians on the aircraft with a possible Wafe. So they brought down the aircraft. The rest you know."

"So many innocents had to die…" Ambrosia said, refilling her glass.

"That’s what they do. Collateral damage is nothing to them if it helps them achieve their goal. Disasters like this have covered their tracks for centuries. House fires, car crashes, ocean liners sinking and blamed on an iceberg. Mine disasters… The list is long. They are very clever at covering up their murderous tracks. Satanic rituals are a popular choice of late."

Ambrosia continued. "What about cyclones, tsunamis, floods, the so-called natural disasters?"

"More often than not it will be a Wafe, or one of us that is out of control. When a Wafe can sense danger to his host body or someone he cares about, he can accidentally set off a chain of natural disasters. Some of course can be worse than others. And some are completely natural, just Mother Nature letting off some steam."

"We have been responsible for so many needless deaths…" Ambrosia added.

Wade nodded. "When we fail to control our emotions, yes, and that is exactly the outcome the Grigorians are hoping for. When they hurt people, by whatever means, they are hoping to push us into showing our weaknesses and revealing ourselves to them." Wade got up and picked up a framed photograph of Ambrosia and Gary. The broken glass face fell away in shards to the floor. "If you show your emotions, especially now that you know who," he paused for a moment to correct himself, "what you are –"

"I 'm an Altairian, like you, and a Guard from the house of Bulguardi. Here to find and protect the Wafes."

"Yes, that is exactly who you are. So you cannot risk exposing yourself to the Grigorians. If they get a hint of what you are, they will come for you, to see who you are protecting."

"But you are more than that, aren’t you?" Ambrosia asked.

"Yes," Wade said. "I am a Royal Guard; my orders come directly from the Guardians."

Ambrosia nodded. "When Grace grieved, nothing happened?"

"Well, that isn't technically correct. It rained for days, she was responsible for that, but her human body was still so much stronger, and she had no idea that she was responsible for any of it, so she gave nothing away. They knew who I was, and after my death they were watching both Kate and Grace. I could sense them at the funeral. But like us, they are very good at camouflaging who they really are."

"And what about Gary, do you think they knew who he was when they attacked him?

"I don't believe so. Otherwise they never would have-"

Ambrosia slumped down on the sofa. "Killed him..." she said, finishing the sentence for him. A small frail sigh slipped from her throat. The room gave a tiny shudder. She held her breath to calm herself. She could not, would not, lose her control ever again. She had a duty to do, revenge Gary's death.

"We are more valuable to them alive," Wade said, sitting down beside her. "They like to travel in packs. There would have been three, or possibly four against one. He didn't stand a chance." He didn't tell her that Gary's defenses would have been weak because he was more preoccupied with thoughts of his proposal to Ambrosia than an impending attack.

"Why didn't he have mistletoe in his bloodstream to fend them off? He drank the coffee, too."

"Which is the only thing they can't detect mistletoe in. Blood."

Ambrosia exhaled and closed her eyes, fighting the urge to cry. Wade put a hand on her shoulder. "Are you going to be okay? I can have someone stay with you, if you don’t think you can do this alone." He looked around the ruins of the once neatly furnished apartment. "I will have someone take care of this. In the meantime, we have a safe house?"

"No," Ambrosia said, shaking her head. I have friends I can stay with."

"You can't tell them anything about this. You will put them in danger. Gary's actual death will not be reported, because if they catch on that he was one of us, the first person they will come looking for is you. A fictitious person will be invented, and a missing persons report will be lodged. Right now they think they got away with it. You will have to make something up, something convincing."

"How can I make anything up to sound convincing? Everyone knows how much Gary meant to me."

"Tell them anything. Tell them he got a job transfer… and you don't want to leave… it's over and you changed your mind. People change their minds all the time. Humans are very good at that, changing their minds. So you're giving him a few days to get his things out of the apartment and you don't want to be there. Trust me, it is easier to fake a lie than it is to try and control your emotions."

Ambrosia shook her head, she hated to lie, she hated that this was what their life had become, a lie.

"If you can't do this, if you need help-" Wade began.

"I can do this; I will do this, for Gary. Everyone else will believe the lie… but I will know the truth."

Wade watched her, studied her. He felt a calm radiating from her where only minutes before there had been a violent burst of hot energy threatening to boil over.

Ambrosia changed the subject. "So ultimately, the Grigorians want the Wafes," Ambrosia said. "And if they control them, or kill them, no one is safe, is that right?"

"Yes." Wade answered. "If they succeed, they will have uncontested control over every human soul on earth, and on Altair. Every soul... and we would have lost. We must return Altair to the Guardians and the house of Bulguardi, making it safe for the pinnacles to return. Then, and only then, will mortal souls have a safe haven to return to."

Ambrosia got up and walked to the kitchen again to fill her glass. She didn’t want to know anymore. It was far too much to try and comprehend in one evening, when such a huge part of her still wanted to do nothing more than curl up on her bed and grieve for Gary. "Just let me get a few things from my room," she said.

Wade watched her go, then pulled something from his pocket. This would be the test.

Ambrosia went to the top of her cupboard, pulled down a small overnight carry bag and opened it on the bed. She went around the room, packing the bag with the bits and pieces she would need for the next few days. She went to her top drawer and dug her hand under her t-shirts until she found what she was searching for. She unfolded the piece of paper and stared at the dog-eared picture of a girl in a wedding gown. She thought about all the years she had treasured this photograph. How she had studied every detail, and how many times she had imagined herself wearing it as she stood next to Gary. This picture had personified the dream she had held in her heart for so long. She folded it up again, then tore the picture into tiny little pieces and threw them into the air like confetti. She returned to her bed, zipped up the bag and walked from the room without turning back. "I'm ready," she said.

Wade walked over to her. "Gary wanted you to have this," he said, handing her the little blue box.

Ambrosia dropped the bag at her feet, taking the small box from Wade. She opened it slowly, then stroked the white gold ring with her finger, an involuntary moan escaping her lips. "He was my soul mate. No matter how many centuries passed by. We always found each other. Not right away, but eventually, and now just like that, in the blink of an eye, he's gone. Forever," she whispered.

Her tears threatened, but she held them at bay. Gulping her tears back into submission, she knew there would be no sacred places or graveside vigils. She understood that she could never allow herself to shed another tear for the man she had loved so completely. She felt a part of her let go, then slowly shrivel up and die. She held the tiny box in her hand, looking around the shattered room, saying her silent farewells, swearing that she would revenge Gary's death, even if it meant losing her own life in the process.

Wade leaned down and picked up her bag, "Ready?" he asked.

Ambrosia nodded and closed the door quietly behind her. She would not be back. This part of her life was over. But she wouldn't stay with friends either, that would be too hard. She would stay at the safe house that Wade had told her about. She had decided that it was time, now that she knew the truth about herself, to be with people of her own kind.

CHAPTER 25 – Déjà vu.

Grace felt as if she was viewing the scene unfolding around her from a parallel universe. It was as if she had become invisible to everyone but herself. Abe was sauntering off down the hall shouting, "all for one and one for all..." Damon strode toward the door with Eric's body tossed over his shoulder. He paused for a brief moment to speak with Angela. Then she closed the door quietly behind him as he left.

"Can someone please tell me why I am the only one freaking out about all of this?" She glanced from the pool of blood on the tiles to Angela, expecting some kind of logical explanation that would explain why Damon had just stabbed a crazed Eric through the heart with a toy wooden sword. "Shouldn't I call Wade, the police, somebody… anybody?"

"Wade's busy, and we'll talk soon," Angela said. "Firstly, though, we have to clean this blood up off the tiles before it dries. It is far easier to clean the blood up while it's still wet."

"How do you know this stuff?" Grace asked, completely baffled.

"Dexter," Angela replied, shrugging and thinking that was as good an explanation as any. "You grab the mop and bucket, and I'll get the bleach."

Grace stood motionless, and stared disbelievingly at Angela. "Dexter?" she repeated.

"Yes, Dexter. Come on, Grace," Angela persisted. "Get a wriggle on, go get the mop and bucket. Oh, and put some hot water in it, too," she said, searching under the kitchen sink for a bottle of bleach. Angela found one and shook it. "Plenty," she said, pulling on a pair of oversized rubber gloves. She turned around to find Grace still rooted to the spot. Angela shrugged her shoulders and planted a questioning look on her face. "What are you waiting for?"

"Okay, then. I'm going," Grace said, walking down the hall to the laundry. "But I swear to God, I could really do with some answers right now…"

"Yes, no, maybe," Angela called after her as she peeled off a wad of paper towels and dropped it into the sticky pool of congealing blood.

* * *

Grace rolled over lazily and opened her eyes. She stretched her arms out above her head. On a mattress at the foot of her bed, she could see Abe sleeping soundly. Grace winced, rubbed her head, and found a huge bump the size of a golf ball. She tried to remember, but nothing came to her. She had no idea how or when she had banged her head so badly. She sat up and hopped quietly out of bed so as not to wake Abe, or her mother in the next room, tiptoed through the half-opened doorway and wandered down the hall to the kitchen. "Coffee, coffee, coffee," she said to the empty kitchen. She put the kettle on the stove, grabbed her usual mug from the drip tray and made herself a coffee. It was only seven o'clock in the morning, so she'd give it another half-hour before waking Abe and making pancakes for their breakfast.

She peered through the kitchen window and wondered how Angela's night at East Point had gone. She gave a little laugh and shook her head. Angela would have been bored in the first five minutes. Josh would have been enjoying himself because Angela was there. And Sonndra would have been trying to keep the peace between Amber and Clair as they squabbled over Jackson. Oh well, at least they were speaking again. Well sort of. Tony and Eric would... She paused. "Eric," she said out loud, saying the name as though that would help her remember something. She continued to gaze through the window.

A chill suddenly crept up her spine, and she gasped, spinning around, expecting to see a face, but no one was there. She felt relieved, let out a slow breath and walked over to the kitchen table. On the back of one of the kitchen chairs hung a jacket. She couldn't remember Zach having a jacket like that. Her eyes moved to a spot on the tiled floor in the lounge room. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting to see there, but there was most certainly nothing misplaced or different about the room. She put her mug down on the table and picked up the jacket. Perhaps the name of the owner would be printed inside?

"Hey, Grace, you're up early," Zach said, startling her. He took the jacket from her hands. "Sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you. I probably should have hung this up in the laundry as soon as I got home last night. That storm was a beauty, wasn't it?" He wandered off down the hall to the laundry with the jacket. "Is there enough hot water in the kettle for another cup?"

"Yeah, sure, it's just boiled. I'll make you one."

"Thanks. So," Zach asked, "what are your plans for the rest of the day?"

"Hmm, nothing much," Grace replied, pouring the hot water into Zach's mug. "After breakfast I'll walk Abe home, and then Angela and Josh are coming here. We're going to the Bean for lunch. The plan is to meet up with the others, so they can tell me all about their big 'adventure' at East Point last night. Don't suppose you could give us a lift?"

"Yeah, I can do that, I'm catching up with some of the boys at O'Regan's to play pool." Zach pulled out a chair and sat down. "Thanks, this smells great," he said, taking the steaming mug from her hands.

"So you haven't caught up with Angela yet?"

"Nope, not since Josh and Andrew picked her up here last night, why?"

"No reason, just asking. I'm putting toast on, want some?" he asked, changing the subject.

Grace shook her head. "If you're happy to wait for another 15 minutes, I'll make you some pancakes."

"Well then," Zach said, sitting back down, "that's an offer way to good to refuse."

From down the hallway came a bang, then an "Ouch," followed by a mumbled, "I'm hungry." Abe fumbled his way down the hallway, rubbing the side of his face. When he took his hand away Grace was horrified to see an angry bruise there.

She jumped up. "What have you done, how did this happen? Your Mom will kill me. Let me look at it..."

"It's nothing," Abe mumbled feeling a little embarrassed. "I just walked into the bedroom door."

"Here, sit down, and I'll get you some ice," she said, pulling a chair out for him next to Zach. "I can't believe how fast the bruise has come up."

"Hey Buddy, nice Spider Man Pajamas," Zach said, smiling.

Grace paused at the freezer door, her hand resting on the handle. A sentence played in her head. My little brother had a pair just like them when he was a kid about your age. She pulled the freezer door open and pulled out a bag of frozen peas.

"I've just had one of those Déjà vu moments," she said, wrapping the bag of peas in a tea towel.

"What's a Déjà vu?" Abe asked, yawning. He pulled a face as Grace placed the cold pack against his cheek.

Another voice joined in. "It literally means, 'already seen,'" Angela said, walking through the front door. "It's when you experience the feeling that you have already witnessed or experienced that exact situation, even though the precise circumstances of the former encounter are uncertain and were perhaps just imagined. Émile Boirac, a French psychic researcher wrote about it." Angela pulled out a chair and sat down.

"What else?" Abe asked, taking the bag of frozen peas away from his face.

"Oh, no you don't, mister. You have to keep them there if you want that swelling to go away," Grace said, pushing his hand and the peas back against his cheek.

"Well, the experience of déjà vu is usually accompanied by an uncanny sense of familiarity. The 'previous' experience is usually ascribed to a dream, although in some cases there is a distinct feeling that the experience has genuinely happened before."

There was a knock on the door and Abe spun his head. "Don't open it!" he begged.

Grace stared at him in disbelief. Was it, whatever it was, happening again? "Why not?" she asked, afraid of what Abe might say.

"Because it's," he looked at Angela and she frowned, "probably my Mom, and I don't want to go home. We haven't had our pancakes yet." The front door eased open, and Grace smiled when Joshua poked his head in.

"Did I hear someone say pancakes?"

"Yes!" shouted Abe excitedly, looking at Grace this time. "We're having pancakes."

"Okay, I get the hint," Grace said standing. "Pancakes it is."

CHAPTER 26 – Watch You Burn

Andrew and Sonndra were sitting at a table on the footpath with Clair when Grace, Joshua, and Angela arrived. Sonndra had her arm firmly around Clair, and both girls were crying.

Grace frowned and looked from Joshua to Angela. Joshua and Andrew nodded in silent greeting. The deepening creases on Andrew's forehead told them that he was at a complete loss as to what to do.

Grace looked at the bandage on Clair's neck and spoke first. "I heard about you being attacked by a dog last night, Clair. I'm so sorry. Does it still hurt?" she asked putting her hand gently on Clair's shoulder. Clair's cropped, platinum-blonde hair, which was usually teased and spiky looking, was disheveled and flat against her head. It was as though Clair had just climbed out of bed and left the house without as much as looking at a hairbrush. And on further inspection, Grace noticed that Clair wasn't wearing any makeup, either. This of course, Grace knew, was an indication that some catastrophic event had taken place in Clair's world. Perhaps she was still in shock over last night's attack, Grace thought, and she could completely understand that. However, she had seen Clair crying like this in the past over losing a pair of her favorite shoes at a party. So, all in all, Grace could not tell, one way or the other, how serious the situation actually was.

Clair shook her head but kept it lowered. Her lips were pressed tightly together, as though she couldn’t trust herself to open them to speak. Grace looked from Clair to Sonndra. Sonndra's eyes were made up, but they were red-rimmed from crying. Joshua looked at Andrew to search his face for some answers. He gave a questioning shrug, hoping for a response.

Andrew shook his head remorsefully. "It's all over the news; I'm surprised you guys haven't heard anything about it."

"What is?" Joshua and Grace asked at the same time. "What's all over the news?"

Jackson and Amber arrived, pulled up seats, and sat down. "Tony and Eric are missing," Amber said. "They haven't been seen since last night." Grace flinched when she heard Eric's name.

Amber continued. "But it gets worse. Matthew, their younger brother, is dead," she said.

"He died in a house fire last night," Jackson added. "Their parents are dead, too."

"My God… we haven't heard anything," Grace said, looking from one drawn face to another.

"Mathew died when their house burnt down," Sonndra said, putting her arm back around Clair when she let out a burst of fresh sobs.

"Jesus," Joshua said, running his hand through his dark hair. He thought about the fire that they had only just escaped from themselves. And if it hadn't been for the rain…

"I can't believe it... and that's how their parents died, too, in the fire?" Grace asked grimly, but too shocked by what she was hearing to let any tears fall.

Andrew shook his head. "No. The parents weren't there. They died in a car smash."

Everyone sat in silence for a few moments, thinking about the last time they had seen the boys. The last conversation they had shared.

"And that is why they didn’t turn up last night," Sonndra said.

Andrew shook his head. "Whatever happened to Tony and Eric took place sometime after ten. That's when Tony's shift finished and he left O'Regan's to go and pick up Eric. But he never said from where. And I never thought to ask."

Jackson frowned and added. "Well they obviously weren’t at home at the time of the fire. Does anyone know what time the fire was?"

Andrew pulled the paper out of his back pocket and began to read.

Disaster strikes family of five. Three dead, two still missing.

Major Crime Detective Superintendent Tim Lennox said emergency services were called to a house fire at 11.45am, which took the life of teenager Matthew Faulkner. His two brothers, Tony and Eric Faulkner, are still missing.

"The house was fully engulfed in flames by the time we got there," he told reporters. "Attempts were made to rescue the boy," Detective Superintendent Lenox said. "However, the fire was too intense. There was very little we could do."

Lennox said police were interviewing surrounding neighbors, but have yet to find anyone that has been able to elaborate on how the fire may have started. Darwin detectives have admitted that the fatal blaze Saturday night was "disturbingly similar" to a house fire two months ago that killed a fifteen-year-old boy, Jack Morrison.

Police are yet to arrest or charge anyone over the death of Jack.

Lennox said police would look at whether or not the two incidents were linked, and that investigations into both fatal fires were ongoing. Lennox also said that there was no link to a fire that swept through forestlands at East Point, around the same time last night.

Police are also investigating a fatal car accident that same night which killed the parents of Matthew Faulkner who died in the house fire. It is alleged that the vehicle owned by the parents was seen being driven away from the vicinity of the family home only minutes before the fatal fire was reported to authorities by a neighbor. Both parents died on impact when the vehicle they were traveling in hit a street pole head-on at high speed. Police are unable to elaborate at this stage. However, they will say that suspicious circumstances have not been ruled out. They are also asking for any persons to come forward that may know the whereabouts of Tony and Eric Faulkner, the missing teenagers.

The fatal car accident brings this year's road toll to 173, 18 more than the same time last year.

"Well, that still doesn't explain why they didn't turn up last night," Andrew said. "Tony left O'Regan's just after ten. The fire was an hour and a half later. He had enough time to get home, pick Eric up and leave again."

Jackson shook his head. "So where did Tony go after he left O'Regan's… did he even pick Eric up? We were at East Point right on ten thirty, and Tony said they'd be right behind us." Everyone remained silent for a few moments, thinking about Jackson's words. Grace's mind kept shifting back to Eric. There was something nagging at her thoughts. Something she ought to remember, but couldn't. Whatever it was, it kept slipping away, just out of her reach.

"Has anyone tried ringing them, see if they pick up?" Amber suggested.

"I have, a ton of times," Andrew said. "No answer, it goes straight to message bank on both their phones."

"Well they weren't in the fire and they weren't with their parents, and they weren't with us, so they have to turn up eventually, right? Jackson said.

Everyone nodded. "I guess so," Amber said, holding Jackson's hand under the table.

He squeezed her hand. "But if they were okay, wouldn’t one of them have called us by now?"

"I guess the funerals will be next week sometime," Sonndra said.

"But what if they don't turn up; does that mean something has happened to them, too?" Amber asked, and they all raised their heads to look at her. Only Clair's sobs punctuated the somber silence that fell around the table. "I mean they wouldn't miss the funerals, would they?"

"The Goths!" Andrew said, startling everyone and silencing Clair's sobbing. "Where were they? They knew we were meeting at East Point at ten thirty, and they never turned up."

Jackson sat bolt upright in his chair. "Yes, remember how they called us chicken shits and how Lyssa glared at Eric."

"I think she made his nose bleed," Sonndra added in a hushed voice.

"Don’t get carried away, Sonndra," Andrew said. "You can't make someone's nose bleed by just looking at them. It isn't like she's a witch or anything."

"Well she looks like a witch, so I bet she could if she wanted to," Amber said, agreeing with Sonndra.

"Well, it's something to think about," Jackson said. "Not the witch stuff," he clarified. "The fact that the Goths didn't show up and neither did Tony and Eric. That could be more than a coincidence…"

"Do you think we should tell the police, about the Goths?" Amber said.

"We don't have any proof that it isn't just a coincidence," Joshua added.

"Well it can't hurt to tell the police. I could say something to Wade. He'd know what to do," Grace suggested.

"Wade's that cop friend of your Mom's, isn't he?" Sonndra asked. Grace nodded.

"That's not a bad idea. You should do that. Let's know what he says, okay," Jackson said. "Now, who else is hungry?"

"Hell, Jackson," Clair said, speaking for the first time. "Tony and Eric are missing, they could be dead, and all you can think about is your frigging stomach?"

"Well, starving isn't going to change anything," he said, raising his hand to summon a passing waitress.

"Hey, guys, Zach said, pulling up a chair next to Angela. She glanced at him and he nodded. "I have some news about your friends, Tony and Eric," he said, glancing from one set of eyes to another as they stared at him, waiting for him to continue.

Clair's hand went to her chest involuntarily. "They've found Tony and Eric," she said in a tiny whisper. "Thank God."

Zach nodded. "It looks like they may have been the ones that started the fire at East Point last night, when you guys were there."

"Why would they do that?" Clair asked, relieved that they had been found. "I mean they'll get into trouble, I know, and that was a stupid thing to do, but at least they are okay."

"Probably trying to start a camp fire," Jackson said. "And it got out of hand, obviously."

Joshua slammed his fist down on the table, making Clair jump. "Frigging idiots', we were damn lucky to get out of there alive!" he said, looking at Angela. She offered him a quick smile, then turned to look at Clair.

"Well we did make it out of there, and the important thing is that they are okay," Clair said. "That's all that really matters now." Her hand reached up and touched the bandaged wound on her neck. When can we see them? Do they know about Matthew and their parents?"

Zach remained silent for a moment. "They found them in the forest about an hour ago. They didn't make it. They're dead, too," he said apologetically to Clair.

Everyone around the table gasped. Sonndra and Clair began to cry again. Amber leaned across and rubbed their arms in an attempt to try and console them. It was a useless gesture, and only encouraged the girls to cry even more. The boys squirmed awkwardly and stared emotionlessly at their hands. Grace and Angela looked at each other, as though sharing a secret to which only one was privy.

Grace heard Eric's voice in her head. "After I'm finished with you, bitch, I'm going to watch you burn…" She still couldn't cry.

Angela turned to Zach and silently said, 'well done. You must thank Damon.' Zach nodded, stood up, and walked away.

However, they both knew that the truth would be discovered as soon as autopsies were performed on the bodies of the two boys. Tony with a stab wound and a broken neck and Eric with a stab wound through his heart, and both having died prior to the fire. And that Eric's body had been set alight after the fire, not during… They would have to make sure that the true cause of death was never revealed.

Matthew's death though, and the death of his parents, was still a complete mystery to everyone. Well, almost everyone. The culprit most certainly knew the truth about those deaths.

A waitress, with shocking pink hair that spilled long and lank over her shoulders and a nametag that read 'Estella', waltzed up alongside their table. With pen and notepad in hand she said, "I can take your orders now." She positioned her pen, ready to write, and looked from one vacant expression to another. No one replied. "Okay then," she said, shrugging her shoulders, pocketing her notepad and walking away. "Morons," she muttered under her breath. Only Angela, with her trained ear, heard her, and she turned to watch the girl disappear back into the café to wait on other patrons.

CHAPTER 27 – Riley Rivers

"Angela, Grace…" Joshua called from the far side of the school car park in a jovial manner. He jogged over, about to grab a handful of the books Angela had piled in her arms, and then thought better of it when she glared at him. "Great weather for the Medieval Masquerade Ball this weekend… Hope it stays this way," he said, looking skywards, and then at Angela.

Grace nodded in agreement, and then added, "It's only Wednesday. Anything could happen between now and then." She scanned the car park, hoping for a glimpse of Damon. Nothing, she sighed. She was hoping that sooner or later he would talk to her again, call her, and maybe ask her to the Masquerade Ball. But as another day passed, the likelihood of that happening was moving further away.

"That is so very true," Angela said gravely. "Anything could happen between now and then."

"I'm going as Sir Lionel," Joshua blurted out. Grace smirked at him with a sideways glance. Only yesterday he had learnt that Angela was going as Joan of Arc. Sir Lionel, according to Hollywood's version, had been Joan of Arc's love interest.

"Well, what a surprise, Josh," Grace said. "How ever did you come up with that idea, I wonder?" Joshua gave her a sly smile and shrugged.

The Masquerade Ball, postponed for two weeks out of respect for Eric's, Tony's, and Mathew's deaths, was exactly what the students needed, the school board had decided. Time to put the past behind us and get back to normal, they'd said.

The siren rang, announcing the commencement of the new school day. A horde of students from all directions headed toward A and B blocks, with jammed backpacks slung over their shoulders. Glossy posters promoting the Medieval Masquerade Charity Ball lined the walls and were the topic on everyone's lips.

"Do you want to catch a ride with us on Saturday night, Zach’s taking us?" Grace asked Joshua as the three of them tromped up the stairs to their first floor classroom. Joshua shoved the door open and ushered the girls in ahead of him. "I’ll be ready and waiting outside with my sword by eight."

"Oh well, you never know when a sword will come in handy at a ball," Grace said, as a fleeting vision of a long silver sword flashed through her mind. Just remnants of a dream, she told herself. She and Angela took their usual seats toward the front of the room. "First lesson history, then math. I hate math," she mumbled, dragging her seat out and sitting down.

Josh chuckled and made his way to the rear of the classroom to join Jackson and Andrew. Two seconds later he was back. "Angela, I nearly forgot. Will you go as my date, Saturday night?" he asked in a hushed voice.

Angela smiled at him with the sweetest of smiles, softly stroking the strings of his passionate heart, but refrained from answering. Joshua gave Grace a gentle nudge. A gesture designed to inform Grace that he believed Angela was eventually succumbing to his perseverance and charm.

Grace shook her head. "Give it up, Josh," she said, hurling a ball of screwed-up paper at him as he strutted victoriously back to his seat. She had to smile, though; his cheerfulness was exactly what they all needed after the last two weeks of sadness that had shrouded the whole school.

"Pantene, Grace," Joshua said over his shoulder. "It won’t happen overnight, but it will happen."

Andrew and Jackson cheered loudly in encouragement, egging him on. Angela, who had her head deliberately in a book, ignored the whole ordeal with a straight face.

The paper ball that Grace threw at Joshua missed her intended target and landed on the floor beside a pair of white runners. Grace’s vision narrowed, then crept slowly upward along a pair of washed-out denim jeans with a frayed hole at the knee, then further still until her eyes stopped and rested on the somewhat familiar face of a fair-haired boy. She tried to think where she had seen him before. As soon as he smiled back at her, it came to her. The pizza delivery boy! He raised his hand and waved, and soundlessly he mouthed, "Hi."

Angela elbowed Grace, jolting her. "I am of the understanding that it is still considered rude to stare, Grace," she said.

"I wasn't staring. I know him," Grace said, turning around to the front of the class. "He's a delivery boy from the Pizza Place."

"Well then, that clears everything up," Angela said, returning to her book.

Ambrosia walked into the classroom, without her usual glowing smile. All the boys followed her with their eyes. Some whistled under their breath and nudged the friends closest to them. She ignored the usual attention she drew, and quickly deposited her bag on the front desk and began to scan the classroom, searching. She ended her search when she found who she had been looking for. "Come on down to the front of the class, Riley," she said, smiling for the first time, "so I can introduce you to the class."

"We’ve already met," Grace muttered under her breath. She heard a chair screech excruciatingly across the tiled floor behind her. She felt a swift brush of cool breeze on her skin as he moved past her.

He turned, looked directly at Grace, and gave her a crooked smile before returning his attention to Ambrosia. Grace felt her face redden, and dropped her eyes. She heard Angela let out a painful sigh beside her and say. "Here we go again..."

"Shush," Grace replied quickly. "He might hear you, and it's not like that." Angela just shook her head.

Ambrosia introduced Riley to the room of only partially interested students. His family had been transferred with the Army to Darwin from Cairns. She hoped he wasn’t like all the other ‘Army Brats’ that made up the 'In Crowd'.

Riley, thankful that the introduction was quickly over, returned to his seat without another glance at Grace.

The history lesson started just as her head began to pulsate in time with the ticking clock suspended on the wall. She put her pen down and kneaded the acute throbbing at her temples. She squeezed her eyes tightly closed as the ache turned quickly into an intense, blinding pain. Her head felt as though it was being pulverized by something deep inside her skull. She grasped her head in her hands, let out a pain-filled moan, and then rested her head on her folded arms on the desk.

"You should go," Angela whispered urgently to Grace. "I will take you to the infirmary."

"Sickroom," Grace muttered.

"Pardon?" Angela whispered.

"Sickroom. It’s called a sickroom. No one calls it an infirmary anymore. Not in my lifetime, anyway."

"Okay, I’ll take you to the sickroom, then."

Joshua sprang up, shoving past Riley, who had just stood up too, and rushed toward Grace.

Ambrosia, noticing Grace's discomfort, helped her to her feet. "Let me help you. Do you need to lie down?" she asked gently. Grace nodded and closed her eyes again, the throbbing in her ears garbling Ambrosia's words. The class fell quiet for a moment, and then whispers began spreading around the room. "You had better take her to the nurse, Angela," Ambrosia said, opening the classroom door.

"Okay, quiet…" Ambrosia said in an unusually stern voice. She clapped her hands together, "Everyone settle down, back to your seats, and take out last night’s homework, ancient philosophers," she said, sitting down on the edge of her desk.

Joshua returned hesitantly to his seat beside Jackson. "It's one of her migraines. She's been getting them for years."

Jackson nodded. "That sucks…"

Ambrosia continued. "Okay then. We were discussing the philosophers' thoughts about reincarnation, the afterlife. Orpheus and Pythagoras, for instance. Pythagoras believed that after death the spirit of a living creature might pass into the body of another living creature. That a human soul might pass into another human body, or that of an animal, a dog, for example. I wonder if this is where some of our fiction writers came up with the idea of shape-shifting."

Cindy piped up from the back of the class and said, "What about the story of the princess who kisses a frog?" she said, glancing at Caleb. "Hoping to turn the frog back into a prince. Is that like shape-shifting? Because I’ve kissed a frog, and guess what, no prince." The room broke into laughter. Caleb lifted his lips into a half-smile and blew her a kiss. Cindy had eventually forgiven him, as he had known she would. She was predictable, like most humans. But he liked having her around, most of the time. She was always reliable when it came to his need for blood. Although he still lusted for the outright kill for the buzz that it gave him, he still needed to keep his hunter instincts alert and finely tuned.

Emily added, "Maybe the frog was a toad, and you were meant to kill it, not kiss it." Some jeers whipped around the room, but as soon as the students realized who Emily was referring to, the room quickly fell silent. Cindy reveled in the attention she received just by being known as Caleb's girlfriend. She likened it to being feared almost as much as he was. No one ever gave her any trouble. In fact, most usually went out of their way to be nice to her. She knew they saw her more as an insurance policy than as a friend. However, that didn't concern Cindy in the least. It only served to make her feel even more important.

"Okay, I think we're getting a little off track," Ambrosia said. "Socrates & Plato’s ideas about reincarnation eventually became quite influential in medieval times. Plato believed that one's soul is immortal, that it pre-exists before birth, and is reborn many times. Each soul chooses its next life, guided by previous experiences in past lives."

Cindy, still pushing for her prince said. "Okay, so what you are saying is that the frog has to choose to come back as a prince."

"Yes, the frog would have to choose to come back as a prince." Ambrosia said.

"Stupid prince," Cindy said. "Why would he have chosen to be a frog in the first place?"

Ambrosia held up her hand. "Okay, Cindy, I think you should give up on your prince. Perhaps he has been a frog all along, never a prince."

Emily smiled triumphantly. "Toad," she added.

"Now," Ambrosia continued, "can anyone tell me about the two rivers that the Greeks talk about? Yes, Riley?"

"Drinking from the river Lethe, meaning forgetfulness or oblivion, they believed that souls were made to drink from the river before being reincarnated, so they wouldn’t remember all the pain and suffering from their previous lives."

"Correct, thank you Riley. And some also believed there was another river." Ambrosia stood and scrawled the word ‘Mnemosyne’, across the blackboard. "Can anyone tell me about that? Riley?" she asked.

"Some believed in the existence of another river, the 'Mnemosyne'. Those who drank from that river would remember everything and attain omniscience, total knowledge."

"Thank you, Riley. Now for tonight’s homework, I would like you all to write a paper on which river you would drink from and why."

"Well I would drink from the river vodka," Cindy said. "That way you could attain just short-term memory loss."

Ambrosia folded her arms. "Oh yes, and it’s all fun, until you have the hangover to contend with the next morning. Okay, five hundred words on my desk tomorrow. Would you choose to forget, or to remember, your past lives?" Ambrosia said, collecting up her books.

Downstairs in the sickroom, the nurse gave Grace two Panadol tablets and a glass of water. "Here you go, dear. Just lie down for as long as you need. If your headache gets any worse, you just let me know and I'll call your mother to come and pick you up." She took the empty glass from Grace and smiled at Angela as she left the room.

Grace curled herself up into a ball on the bed. "Thanks, Angela. I'll be okay now. I just need to sleep it off," she said, trying to blink away the searing pain.

"I'll be back after history and math class to check on you," Angela whispered, and Grace nodded. The pain behind her eyes snowed her vision until the room, and Angela, slowly disappeared into the foggy white haze, and she slept.

"Grace, are you okay?" a voice asked, as fingers brushed strands of hair softly from her face.

She squinted, trying to focus on the face leaning down close to her own. "Riley!" she blurted out, sitting up, checking her clothing, relieved to find all of her clothes still where they should have been. She blushed, embarrassed by the vivid visions in her dream, a dream she had dreamt before, many times. Each time a little different… but always the same boy… Riley, she realized. But how was that possible, she'd only met him a few days ago? And yet when she thought about it, he had been in her dreams for years.

"That must have been one hell of a dream you were having."

"I wasn’t dreaming. I mean. I don’t know. I can’t remember," she lied. "How long have I been here?" she asked.

He smiled. "Long enough to miss math... How are you feeling now, Grace?"

"Fine," she replied. Another lie. "What are you doing here anyway, where is Angela?"

"I’m sure she will be here soon. Would you like me to go?"

"Yes, no … you can stay until Angela gets here if you like."

He sat down on the chair beside the bed.

"So, you go to this school now?" she asked.

"I do."

"Miss Rafael, Ambrosia, said your dad is in the Army."

"Yes, he is," River said. "What does your father do?"

Grace shook her head. "Nothing. Not anymore. He died when I was little."

"Oh, I’m sorry to hear that."

"Yeah. Me, too," Grace said, lowering her head and fidgeting with her fingers. "So, how is your job going, anyway? We haven't had pizza for a while," she said. They sat and just talked, and Grace realized how easy it was to talk to him. How much she enjoyed it.

He shrugged. "It's okay. It's a job … and you get to meet a ton of nice people, like you for-"

"Grace, are you okay?" Joshua asked rushing through the doorway toward her. A few moments later, Angela walked in behind him.

"I’m fine. This is Riley, you know, from history class."

Joshua put out his hand, "nice to meet you, you sick, too?" he asked, only taking his eyes off Grace for a moment.

Riley gripped the offered hand and shook it. "No. Not at all. Nice to meet you, Josh. And you are?" he asked, looking from Joshua to Angela.

"Angela Oaks. Nice to meet you, Riley. Thank you so much for sitting with Grace," she said studying him, noting the slightest of peaks to the top of his ears. Angela did that a lot, studied people as though they were bugs under a microscope. "I'm a friend of Holly's," she said after a moment.

Joshua and Grace both looked at Angela. Joshua looked overly interested while Grace was more surprised. Angela had never mentioned a Holly before.

"Yes," Riley nodded, "I know." Angela gave him a quick smile.

"Well," Riley said. "I can see that I am no longer needed here, so nice talking with you, Grace," he said, turning toward her. "I’m sure we will bump into each other again soon. Make sure you order pizza this week, okay?"

Grace smiled. "I'll be sure to do that. And thanks for waiting with me."

Riley nodded and slipped out of the room as Joshua and Angela sat down on the edge of her bed, waiting for her to elaborate.

"Really, guys, there's nothing to tell. He's just the pizza boy," she said, standing up. "Let's get out of here, I’m starving." Grace grabbed her bag from Joshua and threw it over her shoulder. "And who is this Holly and how-" Grace paused, remembering her dream. "I just had the most vivid dream. I was in Germany, and I could speak fluent German. And the really funny thing is that I could understand everything that was being said. Actually, I've had this dream a few times. I had it again just the other night… there were angels falling out of the sky, with blazing arrows…" she frowned at the fleeting memory, and then dismissed it. "Anyway, what do you guys know about the Benedictine nuns?" she asked seriously, leaving out the parts of the dream that included the Riley clone.

"Benedictine nuns?" Joshua repeated, gawking at Grace as though she had just said the most ridiculous thing. "Now you are really starting to worry me."

"According to the Wikipedia online encyclopedia," Angela began, "the word Benedictine refers to followers of the Order of Saint Benedict. These people generally lead a life in an abbey, and follow the rule of Benedict of Nursia. Benedict lived in the sixth century. He made a number of rules, called the Rule of St Benedict, that these people follow. Pax meaning peace and ora et labora meaning pray and work. Most Benedictines are part of the Catholic Church, the Eastern Orthodox Church, or the Anglican Church. Officially, the order is known as Ordo Sancti Benedicti."

Joshua exhaled a breath and looked from Angela to Grace. "Well, I hope you're happy, Grace? Now look what you've started!"

Grace grinned. "Yeah, you think I would know better by now, wouldn't you. Let’s just go get something to eat. Orlando eggs Benedict," she added. "That's what I feel like eating."

Joshua shook his head. "Oh, why do you torment her by saying things like that, Grace?"

"Ordo, Sancti, Benedicti." Angela pronounced the words very slowly, correcting her.

Grace swung her arm around Angela’s shoulders, "Okay, Angela, whatever, let's go," she said, forgetting all about her dream, and Riley, for now.

CHAPTER 28 – Guinevere

"So who are you going to go as?" Clair asked Grace, as she flopped down in the oversized purple beanbag next to Sonndra. Grace shrugged and crossed her legs under herself on the foot of her bed.

"Careful!" Sonndra said to Clair, picking up the bottle of nail varnish before it spilled on the bedroom carpet. She put the bottle on the other side of the beanbag and started applying another coat of varnish to Amber's toenails.

Amber was sitting on the bed next to Grace, and said, "Jackson and I are going as Romeo and Juliet. Oh, I really like that color, Sonndra. Do you want me to paint yours now?" She lifted her foot to admire the bronze nail varnish on her toes.

"Juliette," Grace murmured, deep in thought.

"What's that?" Amber asked, frowning at Grace.

Grace shook her head. "It's nothing, just thinking out loud."

Sonndra heaved herself out of the beanbag. "Sure, swap places," she said to Amber. "I'll have the same color, it's really nice." Sonndra made herself comfortable on the end of the bed. Andrew and I are going as Robin Hood and Maid Marian," she said, waiting for Amber.

"I thought I might go as a medieval wench," Clair said, pulling her knees up under her chin.

"Actually, you'd make a good wench," Amber said, settling in next to Clair on the beanbag. Sonndra and Grace shot Amber a look. "What? No, I didn’t mean that in a nasty way." She turned around to look at Clair with an apologetic look on her face. "I really didn't, Clair, honest," she said, putting Sonndra's foot up on a pillow.

"Yeah, I know. I didn’t think you did. It's these two," Clair said, looking from Grace to Sonndra, "they think I'm still hung up on Jackson. But I'm not. That's ancient history. You guys make a good couple. And besides, I've already got my eye on someone new." They all looked at Clair, waiting. "Not telling," she said. "I don't want to jinx it."

"What about Zach, who's he going as?" Sonndra asked.

"The whole footy team is going as Knights Templar. Plus they are security for the night, so they will be easy to spot if they are all dressed the same."

"That's a good idea," Sonndra said. "Zach will look amazing done up as a knight." Clair nodded enthusiastically.

"What about Guinevere? You could go as Guinevere," Amber suggested to Grace.

"Guinevere, hmm, I don't mind that idea. But wouldn't everyone expect me to be going with someone? Like a King Arthur or a Lancelot, for example?" Grace let out a sigh. She still hadn't heard from Damon, and he had been avoiding her at school now, too. A few times she had seen him with Emily, the new girl, and Grace wondered if she was the reason why Damon hadn't ever called her back. Perhaps he liked Emily more. She was pretty, and smart, and she hadn't stood up and embarrassed Damon in front of the whole class by kissing him on the mouth. She'd also heard gossip, but she wasn't going to pay any attention to that. She still shivered just thinking about it. What if the gossip was true? What if Damon and Emily were more than just friends? That would mean everything he had said to her was a lie.

As though reading her mind Sonndra said, "You still like Damon Draco, don't you? Well, forget him. If he doesn’t realize how special you are, then he doesn’t deserve you."

"That's right, and there are a ton of single people going on Saturday night. Me included," Clair said. "And even Guinevere was single before she met her King Arthur and the dashing Lancelot."

"I suppose," Grace said, trying to sound optimistic. "Alright, I'll go as Guinevere. Who needs to go as a couple anyway?"

"Right on, sister," Clair said, giving her a high-five. "Who is Angela going as?"

"Where's Angela tonight anyway?" Sonndra asked, leaning down to study her toenails. "This really is a nice color."

Amber nodded. "It's almost the same beautiful color as your skin. I envy you so much, never having to worry about getting a tan…"

"Angela is going as Joan of Arc, and Joshua is going as a knight, Sir Lionel. Lancelot's cousin. Angela doesn’t really get into the whole girly sleepover thing. And her Mom and Dad are home tonight and-" a knock sounded on the front door. "That'll be the pizza," Grace said, scrambling to her feet.

"Oh great, I'm starving," Clair said, heaving herself out of the beanbag to follow Grace down the hallway. "Come on, you two," she said to Amber and Sonndra over her shoulder, "hurry up, or you'll miss out."

"What movies are we watching tonight?" Amber asked as she shoved her feet into a pair of rabbit’s ear slippers.

"New Moon, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, and Transformers – Revenge Of The Fallen. If we can stay awake that long," Sonndra said, dragging the oversized beanbag down the hall behind her.

Grace grabbed the money for the pizzas off the kitchen counter and opened the door, a huge smile spreading across her face. "I was hoping it would be you," she said, stretching out her hand to give Riley the money.

"I've been keeping an eye out for a delivery in this area for the last few days," he said, grinning. "Where can I put these for you?" He raised the three pizza boxes resting on his arms.

"Oh yes, just in the lounge room over here would be great, thanks."

"No problems. You extra hungry, or are you feeding an army tonight?" Riley asked, following Grace into the house. "Oh, I see. An army of hungry women," he said as he spotted Amber, Clair and Sonndra curled up in front of the television.

"Feel free to join us," Clair said in a sultry, flirtatious voice.

"Oh, I would love to, really," he said. "But I have to get back to work. Enjoy the pizzas, and your movies, girls," he said smiling. "Um, Grace, I was wondering if I could ask you something?"

"Sure," she said, walking him to the door.

"Well, if you haven't got a date Saturday night for the Medieval Ball, I was wondering if you might like to go with me."

The smile slipped from Grace's face. "Well I was kind of hoping that… can we go as just friends, not as a date? Would that be okay? I'm just not sure where my head is at the moment. I know that's a pretty lame-"

"That would be great. Going as just friends would be perfect, really," he said, reassuring her. But inside, he felt a twinge of disappointment. He wanted to be more than just friends. She deserved to be happy. And he wanted to be the one who made her happy. To hell with Damon Draco, he'd had his chance, and he'd blown it. "So, shall I pick you up?" he asked.

"How about we meet there, say eight o'clock outside B Block?"

"Oh, one more thing," he asked. "Who are you going as?"

"Guinevere," she said smiling, and feeling a little embarrassed at the same time.

"Well then, would you mind if I went as King Arthur?"

"That would be fine," she said, smiling again.

"So then, eight o'clock tomorrow night it is. Enjoy your evening, Grace. Bye, girls," he called over his shoulder as he left.

Amber, Clair and Sonndra started to giggle. "Well it looks like someone has just found her King Arthur after all," Sonndra said, passing one of the pizza boxes to Amber.

"Yes, well. I guess I can cross Riley off my list," Clair said, biting into a piece of pizza.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Clair. But it's not really like that; we're just going as friends…"

Clair huffed. "Don't worry about it, really. There are plenty of other fish in the sea. Now, what movie should we watch first?" she said changing the subject.

"New Moon," they all answered in unison.

"It's already in the machine ready to go, switch off the big light while you're up, Grace," Amber said, making herself comfortable on the sofa next to Clair. Sonndra wiggled herself into the beanbag like a bird preparing to nest.

Grace flicked the light switch off and dragged another beanbag over to the coffee table. "Help yourself to the garlic bread," she said, grabbing a piece for herself.

"Okay, push play, Amber," Clair said with a mouthful of pizza.

CHAPTER 29 – The Promise

A long, sleek limousine pulled up gracefully in front of the two-story buildings covered in a million star-like fairy lights. Kings, queens, archbishops, knights and an array of dignitaries from a royal court made their way amiably along a red carpet between the two buildings covered in glittering fairy lights. Performing court jesters lined the red carpet, entertaining the arriving guests. Overhead, colorful lanterns bobbed and swayed in the salty breeze coming in off the Arafura Sea. Only happy laughter and excited voices drowned out the mournful cry of renaissance violins and the high-pitched plucking notes from a harpsichord.

A man dressed as a black knight leaned down, opening the passenger's door. He presented a leather-gloved hand. One long, shapely leg with a red-jeweled satin shoe, reminiscent of medieval times, appeared, and a dainty, gloved hand was placed gently on the offered hand.

"My Queen," the man said with a low swooping bow. "It is my pleasure to welcome you on this evening."

The woman emerged, dressed in a blood-red velvet gown trimmed in exquisite gold embroidery. Her braided red hair was pulled back harshly from her face, and secured with a headpiece encrusted with pearls, the jeweled mask on her face almost hiding her sparkling yellow eyes.

"Tyler, please call me Bloody Queen Mary," Theria said, emphasizing the 'bloody' with a smirk on her face.

"Shall anyone be losing their head tonight, my Queen?" he asked, kissing her hand.

"As long as it is not mine, brave knight," she replied with a slight curtsy, "I don't really mind."

Theria's cortège stepped from the car behind her. Firstly, Lyssa, bathed in an ink-black gown, was hidden behind a black feathered mask dripping in tiny beads. On the side of her face was painted a black web with a jeweled spider.

Caleb emerged from the dark interior dressed as Vlad Tepes, better known as Count Dracula, and wore a sinister black mask with a long pointed nose. Cindy followed him as Anne Boleyn, in a royal blue gown with matching feathered and jeweled mask. She took hold of Caleb's arm and fussed with the ruffled layers of her dress. Her fair hair was coiled elegantly on top of her head, giving her the appearance of being taller than her five foot five.

Emily appeared next, in a flowing white gown with gold trim on the long sleeves and neckline. She had left her hair loose, so strands played whimsically across her white and gold feathered mask in the little gusts of breeze.

Then lastly, Damon stepped from the vehicle wearing a simple black mask. His tall stature and physique perfectly embodied the dashing knight, Sir Lancelot.

"Doesn't everything look so beautiful?" Emily gushed breathlessly, gazing around at the swirls of colorful fabrics and the brightly decorated lanterns swaying gently in the breeze. Damon nodded agreeably. However, his eyes scanned the bustling crowd for another.

Further along the red carpet his eyes found her, and an involuntarily sigh slipped through his lips as she laughed and spun around with her arms held out. His lips turned up at the edges as he watched her playful performance. Her hair fell in blonde ringlets over her shoulders. Crowning her head was a circle of ivy and flowers, entwined together with a gold thread. She was a vision, in a simple yet elegant baby-blue gown that twirled around her as she moved. For Damon, it was like stepping back to another time. He thought about the promise he had made to Angela on the night Eric was killed. He had agreed to stay away. But now that promise started to dissolve with each second that he held Grace in his sight. He had made another promise, to Juliette, a very long time ago. Didn't he owe it to her to keep that promise, too?

Then quickly the smile on Damon's face disintegrated, and he froze. He watched as Riley took Grace's hand, then leaned down, kissing her softly on the cheek. She laughed and curtsied, playing along.

"My beautiful Guinevere, it is my absolute pleasure to be escorting you on this fine evening," he said, bowing. "Tonight, I am your King, and yours to command as you see fit."

Riley, Damon cursed quietly so as not to be heard. I should have known, he murmured, clenching his jaw.

Emily took Damon's arm and gave him a gentle tug. "Shall we go in with the others?" she asked in a whisper. She felt Damon's body tense beneath her fingers and frowned, following his steely gaze. "Are you okay… is it someone you know?" she asked quizzically.

"No," Damon answered abruptly, then he caught himself and smiled at her. "I thought it was someone I knew, but I was wrong. The masks, they make it hard, almost impossible to recognize faces. And yes, we should go in," he said, leading Emily along the red carpet behind Caleb and Cindy. "I have to say, you look radiant tonight, Emily. And everything looks amazing. You have done a great job pulling all this together in just a couple of weeks."

"Thank you," she said. "We had a few problems earlier today with the lighting, and setting up the marquee for the band, but it all came together in the end."

"Yes, it most certainly did," he said glancing around at the hive of festivities swarming around him. A boy in a court jester costume cart-wheeled alongside the red carpet, while a fire-eater swallowed a flaming sword. "Are you dressed up as anyone in particular, tonight?" he asked Emily.

"The Lady of  Shalott," she replied, smiling.

"Oh yes. The girl who fell in love with Lancelot… she died of a broken heart," Damon said, hoping that Emily was not going to make the same mistake. His gaze shifted again, returning to Grace. He watched every graceful move as she sashayed casually along the red carpet with her hand placed in the crook of Riley's arm. On their left, Amber and Jackson walked arm-in-arm. And to the right, Sonndra and Andrew held hands. Slightly behind them walked Angela, Joshua, and Clair.

Angela's head shot around, her eyes locking onto Damon's. Silently, she said to him, 'Remember your promise... please, it's too dangerous. Just stay away from her...' Then she abruptly turned away, placing her small, gloved hand in the crook of Joshua's arm. Joshua's smile was radiant as he placed his hand tenderly on the top of hers.

Then he leaned down toward her, letting his lips brush against her hair. "You look beautiful," he whispered into her ear.

Damon turned away then, too, and bowed his head. Did Angela have any idea how hard that was for him, to stay away? He wondered. If he had a chance to speak with Grace, tell her who she was… explain everything, then she would understand. Perhaps Angela was wrong. If he could take Grace away somewhere safe, he would be able to protect her. He had to try.

It was in that exact moment that he missed Grace when she turned around to look at him. He did not see how her brow furrowed when she noticed Emily's arm cradled in the curve of his, or how she stiffened when Damon eventually raised his head to look at Emily and laugh at something she said.

By the time Damon had searched her out again, Grace had turned away, grasping Riley's arm a little tighter to steady herself from the shock. Riley smiled, placing his hand gently on top of hers, and she gulped down the urge to cry. She had been right. Damon liked Emily more than her. She hadn't wanted to believe the gossip she'd overheard in the girls' bathroom at school. How Emily and Damon were more than just friends. How they had shared a romantic night together at the beach. The very same night he had left her alone with just a scribbled note. She had no choice now but to forget about him and move on. And that was exactly what she intended to do. She had waited for him long enough. What a fool she had been.

At the end of the red carpet a refreshment stand had been set up, with cold drinks.

"Can I get you something to drink, Grace?" Riley asked. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

"We'll go and find a table," Sonndra and Amber echoed, dragging Andrew and Jackson along after them.

"Is there anything in particular you would like to drink?" Riley asked, and Grace shook her head.

"Okay," he said leaving her with Angela. "I'll be back in a second."

"I'll come with you," Joshua said lining up alongside him at the counter.

A girl with bright pink hair behind the stand said, "Hi Riley, what'll it be?"

"Oh, hi, Stella, you're working here tonight, too? Didn't you have a shift today at the Bean?"

"Yeah. I don't know many people here tonight, so I thought I might as well make some extra money."

"Holly is working here tonight, too. Have you seen her? And I'll have a Coke and a lemonade," he added, handing her the money.

"Yeah, I saw her earlier. She asked to be assigned to the food stalls. Over there, see?" she said, pointing over his head. He turned and nodded, catching his sister's eye, and she waved. "Come find me on your break, okay?" he said to Estella. "And I'll introduce you to some friends."

"Sure. Are you with those guys over there?" she asked, and Riley nodded. "Oh," she said apprehensively, thinking about the day at the Bean when they had all ignored her.

"Trust me, you'll like them," he said reassuringly.

Estella shrugged. "Okay, I'll catch you later, then," she said, turning away to serve Joshua.

"Pretty good night, don't you think?" Clair said, looking around at all the colorful costumes, then skyward. "Look at that, there are a million stars... have you ever seen so many?" Angela followed Clair's line of vision, then looked at Grace.

A boy came rushing up to Clair. "Would you like to dance?" he asked.

She looked him up and down; he was wearing a pope's costume. "Sure, just don't try and convert me, and we'll get along just fine."

"What are you, like a wench or something?" he asked.

"Yep."

"Cool. I love wenches," he said, taking her hand and leading her to the dance floor.

"Are you having a nice night?" Angela asked, walking over to stand beside Grace.

Grace nodded. "I'm going to," she said, then cringed at the ear-piercing sound coming from a microphone. Ten meters away on a raised stage under a white marquee, a band began to play, and couples in front of the stage started dancing.

Riley found his way through the throng of people and put the drinks down on the table next to their group. "Grace," he said putting his hand out, "would you like to dance?"

She buried all thoughts of Damon. He hadn't been thinking about her, so why should she waste anymore of her time thinking about him? "Why of course," she said happily with a curtsy. "I'd love to."

CHAPTER 30 – Forbidden Fruit

Siena ushered her guest through the crowd, which instinctively parted as she approached. They did not stop to stare at Siena or her guest, or the three black knights who trailed closely behind them, but merely moved aside and went on with their various conversations. It was as though an invisible force had leaned out and pushed them gently aside.

Lyssa saw them first, and walked up eagerly to greet them, her mask concealing a secret smile. She put her arms around Abaddon. "It is so good to see you again, Abaddon," she said. "It has been way too long. I have missed you."

Abaddon returned her embrace. "And I you," he said spinning her around. "And may I just say how sensational you look." The words purred off his tongue as he ran a hand down her long black hair. "Let me guess." He studied her for a moment. "The Black Widow," he said eventually.

Sienna, Theria and Caleb studied the somewhat odd interaction between Abaddon and Lyssa. She had obviously been one of Abaddon's lovers at some point, but none of them had any knowledge of it.

"You are correct, of course. However, I know you read my mind, and that’s cheating," she said playfully. "And may I say, Abaddon, that you are by no means fat enough, or ugly enough, to do justice to Henry the Eighth." Lyssa chuckled then. "Are you here to start beheading wives?" she said, pushing Cindy forward. "Here, you may as well start with this one." Cindy toppled forward, but Abaddon quickly caught her in his arms.

"You must be Anne Boleyn," he said affectionately. "One of my all-time favorite women. And naughty, fancy sleeping with your brother to try to save your pathetic marriage to that horrid King."

Cindy stared up into Abaddon's mesmerizing eyes and shook her head mutely. He tilted his head and smiled at her. Cindy's lips parted slightly. Beautiful, she thought as she felt her heart quicken in her chest. "My name is Cindy," she offered in a hushed voice.

Abaddon steadied her then handed her back to Caleb. "This is yours, I believe."

"Yes, thank you," Caleb said, lowering his head in respect.

"And who do we have here," he said letting his eyes wander over Emily. "Who does this little flower belong to?" he asked as though playing a game.

Emily sighed, wishing everyone would stop referring to her as though she were a flower. "My real name or-"

"I know your real name, Emily," Abaddon retorted as held up his hand. "Wait … don't tell me … you are the Lady of Shalott, the foolish woman who lost her heart over a silly knight." He lowered his hand. "Am I correct?"

Emily stared at him, unimpressed.

Abaddon feigned surprise. "You hurt me, child, that you do not wish to play along. I fear you are more of a thorn than a flower." This made Emily smile. At last, a flower no more, but a thorn. A thorn she could live with.

"Emily," called a girl dressed in a witch's costume. "We need you over here. There’s a problem with the ice machine."

"If you'll excuse me," Emily said, pushing her way past Abaddon, "I have more important things to do." She glanced at Damon, and he smiled at her admiringly as she hurried away.

"Well," Abaddon said. "That one is a little firecracker." Then he turned abruptly to face Damon. "And who are you, boy?" he spat viciously.

Damon gave a slight tilt of his head. "Damon," he said. "It is a pleasure to eventually meet you, Abaddon. But if you will also excuse me, I have things I must take care of."

"Hmm," Abaddon said, waving him away with disinterest. He looked at Siena and licked his lips. "Where can one find someone to eat around here that won't cause too much of a distraction?" he asked. "I wouldn't want to ruin the party on my first night in town…"

* * *

Grace sat alone at the table, waiting for Riley to return with fresh drinks. She smiled as she watched the others on the dance floor. She had to shake her head and laugh when she spotted Joshua coercing Angela onto the dance floor. She took a small paper fan out of her bag and fanned herself with it. She wished it were cooler…

And the strangest thing happened. A cool breeze instantly picked up, and she shivered.

"Grace," a voice said behind her, and she spun around, expecting to see Riley. The smile on her face slipped instantly away, and she felt … she didn't know what she felt. Yes, she did. She felt angry. Angry and hurt.

"Damon, this is not the right time. I am-"

"Please, just let me explain. Can we go somewhere where we can talk?"

"The last time you wanted to talk, if I remember correctly, you ran off to be with someone else." She clenched her fists on the table. He reached across to lay his hand on her knotted fist. "Don't," she said, snatching it away. "It's too late!"

"It doesn't have to be. Just let me explain, please. I want to be with you. I have only ever wanted to be with you. There is no one more important to me than you are..."

"And what about Emily, what would she have to say about that?" Grace asked lifting her chin defiantly. "Emily doesn’t look like nothing to me. And you ran off to be with her on the night you ran out on me. Do you know how that made me feel, do you?" She folded her arms across her chest. "How would Emily feel if she saw you sitting here with me? Or is that part of your game? Do you like having women swooning after you?"

Damon dropped his head. "Emily would be hurt. But it isn't because of anything that I have done."

"Oh right, you're the innocent party. Poor Damon, so many girls chasing him…"

"Grace, if you would just give me five minutes, I swear I will never bother you again." He glanced around; he knew the time he had left to get through to her was quickly running out. If it wasn't Angela or Riley, it would be someone else. Someone far worse than both of them put together… "Please," he said. "Five minutes is all I need."

She looked at him. Five minutes couldn't hurt, she decided. "Okay, five minutes, and that's it," she said taking her mask off and letting him help her up.

He saw Angela and Riley, then Theria. He had to hurry. He took a firmer grip on her hand. "Come on," he said, running with her through the crowd, toward the deserted cliff face on the other side of the building.

Grace felt exhilarated as she ran, the adrenaline racing through her veins, driving her forward. She looked up at Damon and laughed as they emerged from the crowd into the stillness and the shadows of the deserted car park. She dropped the mask at her feet and smiled, then twirled around until she felt giddy. "That was fun," she said, panting, catching her breath. Damon grabbed her arm and pulled her against him. He took her face in his hands and kissed her until her breathing slowed, and she kissed him back.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" a boy in a court jester costume asked as he stepped out of the shadows. "I do hope you are intending to share," he said, pulling a girl along behind him by the arm. Damon pushed Grace behind him.

A hybrid, Damon thought. Someone has been busy. First Adam, then Tony and Eric… and those were just the ones he knew about. He let out a guttural growl in warning, but the boy did not budge.

"Oh come on, be a sport. Mine's all but empty."

He tugged harder on the girl behind him, and she staggered forward, swaying on her bare feet beside him. Her head was lowered, but Grace still recognized her.

"Clair," Grace shouted, pushing past Damon to catch her as she began to fall.

The boy grabbed Grace by the arm and swung her around. "Forget her, she's all but dead."

Another boy in a black knight's costume, whom Damon had not seen coming, pounced on him from behind and ploughed him into the ground.

Grace struggled in her captor's hands. She looked from Clair to Damon, and wondered which one needed her the most. Her heart started to pump harder, faster. She could feel the blood coursing through her veins. The boy let her go with a jolt, and was thrown back up against the wall of the building, as though he had been struck by a bolt of invisible lightning.

Grace knelt down and tried to pull Clair to her feet.

"Get her out of here," Damon shouted. And Grace nodded.

"What about you?"

"I'm fine," he said, punching the knight in the side of the head, stunning him just long enough for Damon to get to his feet.

A clap of thunder boomed overhead, whipping up a howling gust of wind across the ocean.

"Go… before more get here, go!" Damon shouted over the wind and thunder. He saw another figure approaching, but Grace had already turned away, pulling Clair along after her. He leaned down and snapped the knight's neck just as Grace turned back to look at Damon. She gasped, and a vision of Eric's face in Damon's hands flashed before her. Then she screamed at a ghostly face, its dark eyes staring as cold fingers grabbed her arm, pulling her away. "Let go-" she began to shout, then stopped as she recognized the old man's face. It was the Chinese deliveryman from the Flying Wok.

"Mr Chan," Grace said as the wind whipped strands of her hair across her face. "What are you doing here?" she shouted over the howling wind, as it lashed around them.

"Catering," the old man said, flashing a toothy, gold grin.

"No, wait. I have to help Clair-"

"It's okay, Grace. I've got Clair," Zach said, scooping up the girl and carrying her away.

Grace turned back toward where Damon was fighting off another attacker, a woman this time, in a purple gown. She had attached herself to Damon's back and was snapping as his throat like a rabid dog. "Someone has to help Damon," she cried to Zach.

"You don't need to worry about Damon. He'll be fine," Zach said. Then he mumbled. "It's because of his kind that we're in this mess."

Grace strained to hear him over the wind. "What did you say? What do you mean, his kind?" Zach just shook his head. He had already said too much.

Grace looked back over her shoulder just as Damon tore a piece of flesh off the girl's arm and spat it out, just seconds before he drove his fist through her chest and she flopped to the ground. Dead. Then with another gust of wind, Grace's vision was completely cut off from Damon. She put her hand over her mouth to stifle a cry.

"It's okay, girl. He'll be fine," the old man said. "But you shouldn't talk about this, okay? You should forget all about this." Grace nodded her head.

Paper lanterns, freed from their housing, blew along the ground like colorful tumbleweeds, being hunted by the wind. Everyone was rushing around searching for shelter as it began to rain. Grace could hear the wail of an ambulance. Then she heard a voice in her head. 'Turn off the storm, Grace,' it said. 'Everyone is safe'. She shook her head to clear it, but she thought about the words and played them over and over again in her mind. Then, slowly, to her complete surprise, the wind began to settle and the rain stopped. Only flashes of lightening lighted up the sky, but that, too, was starting to subside and move further away.

Mr Chan deposited Grace in the staff room with Joshua, and scurried out of the room.

Zach laid Clair down on a staff room table, and said he was going outside to wait for the ambulance. He passed Andrew and Sonndra in the hall. Jackson and Amber came trailing behind. "They're in there." He pointed to the staff room door.

Sonndra rushed up to Clair. "I can't believe this has happened to you again. Are you okay?"

Clair covered her face with her hands. "He just started biting me," she said, showing the wounds on her arms to Grace. Ambrosia was busy shooing teachers and students who didn't need to be there out of the room. "And then another one… I'm not sure how many," Clair said, wiping away her tears. "It was just like…" Her voice trailed off.

"Just like what?" Joshua asked, kneeling down beside her. Grace brought her a glass of water.

"The dog that attacked me at East Point, only those weren't dogs," she said. "They were people. What kind of people do that?" she sobbed as the ambulance officers and Zach came through the door with a gurney. "And I've lost my frigging shoes… again! Will someone please try to find my shoes?" She tried to sit, but feeling lightheaded, she quickly lay back down."What kind of people," Grace murmured, thinking about Damon. "What kind of people indeed."

"My shoes, Grace," Clair repeated.

"Yes Clair. We will try to find your shoes."

Zach picked Clair up and put her on the stretcher.

"I can walk," she said, trying to push herself up off the stretcher.

"No you can't. And if you try, you will faint. Now lie down," the ambulance officer said in a warm, Irish accent. "You've lost a lot of blood, and you need to let us take care of you," he said pushing her gently back down.

While everyone was focused on Clair, Grace slipped out the door and merged with the crowd outside.

The pretty female medical officer with the smooth chocolate-brown skin said, "Are we ready to go, Sammy?"

"We are. Let's go take care of Miss Clair, shall we," he said, pushing the gurney through the open door.

"Come on, move aside, let them pass," Ambrosia said to the crowd of curious onlookers gathering outside in the hall. She reached out and touched the female medic as she guided the other end of the gurney. "Thank you, Lucina," she said, "for everything."

Lucina nodded. "You're welcome," she replied before being swallowed up by the inquisitive crowd.

Riley rushed into the room with his sister Holly directly behind him. "Where's Grace?" he asked, looking desperately around the room.

Everyone looked at Joshua, and then scanned the room looking for Angela.

"I have no idea," Joshua said. "Grace was here a moment ago. And the last time I saw Angela was when we were dancing. Then the storm happened and everyone went running in all directions." He ran his fingers through his damp hair. "I assumed Angela had gone to find Grace. And when Grace turned up here, I figured Angela wouldn't be too far behind."

"I'm here," Angela said, pushing through the doorway. "But I have no idea where Grace is."

* * *

"Well, what an eventful evening," Abaddon said, sitting down next to Theria and wiping his mouth on a handkerchief. "I had quite forgotten how wild these humans become when you deplete them of a little blood. Not to mention their souls." He traced his fingers down the side of Theria's face, and she pushed them away.

"Not here, people will talk. And it isn't normal that they are going crazy so quickly. It usually takes a lot longer," she said standing up. "Someone is on a rampage, and we don't know who."

"Well, who cares about that, plenty to go around if you ask me. And since when has that ever bothered you, the age difference?" he said, resting his back against the table.

"The age difference here is frowned upon."

"Again, since when would that ever have bothered you? You need to lighten up, dear sister." He stood, held up his arms and turned. "Look around you. It's like walking among an orchard of succulent ripe fruit, just waiting to be plucked."

"And who's going to clean up the rotting fruit on the ground once it's been discarded, you? I wouldn't imagine so," Theria scoffed.

"I say pluck away, and let the bones fall where they may."

She glared at him, and that was all he needed to read her. "Oh sister, and here I was thinking you were worried about discarded fruit… but no. You're jealous of Lyssa," he chuckled. "You really shouldn't worry your pretty little head about that."

Theria began to open her mouth.

"Don't waste your time. You know there is no point lying to me." He stood, circling her. "I take it Caleb isn't taking care of your needs these days, now that he has replaced you with a human girl." He put a finger to his lips and frowned. "That does remind me of… let's see… oh, yes. I remember now, Cerberus and Pandora!"

Theria snarled at him.

"Careful, my dear, your teeth are showing, and I imagine that is frowned upon here, too… Why don't you do yourself a favor and go pluck something. It will really do you the world of good," he said, stalking away to help a young teacher struggling with a heavy box. "Let me help you with that," he said politely. "Where is your dear husband when you need him?" he asked, shaking his head in mock exasperation.

"Oh, I'm not married," she said.

"A boyfriend, then?"

"Single," she answered, blushing.

"Well, that is a crime, isn't it?" he said, giving her a sideways glance and an irresistible grin. "And may I say that you smell absolutely divine." Her human scent,  quietly engaging, fueled his insatiable hunger.

She smiled. "It's Beautiful," she said, giving him the name of the perfume she was wearing.

"It most certainly is," he agreed.

* * *

Grace was standing looking out over the ocean when he approached her silently from behind. Her blue gown billowed out around her in the brisk breeze, still cool from the recent rain. She turned when she sensed him approaching.

"Damon," she said in an even tone. Her face was lovely, so peaceful, and so serene in the moonlight, which surprised him after what she had just witnessed. A bolt of lightning snaked through the sky, chased by an angry grumble of thunder.

"Grace," he said as he continued to walk toward her. "You must have a million questions about what happened here tonight."

She shook her head. "Why would you think that?"

He looked at her and frowned. "Now I'm confused…"

She tilted her head to one side. "Kiss me," she said, as she held out a hand toward him. A giant wave crashed on the cliff face below, spraying up a surge of seawater.

He took her hand, kissed it, and then pulled her close against his chest. He held her there for a moment to savor the closeness of her body touching his, then he stepped back a fraction and eased her face toward his. He lowered his mouth slowly to her lips and kissed her with heartfelt passion. She did not close her eyes when he kissed her. Then suddenly, he pulled away. "Grace?" he asked, looking confused.

She shook her head slowly. "Try again," she said raising an eyebrow.

"Juliette?" he breathed and I smiled…

You have just finished reading book 2 in the Paradox Series. Progeny Of Innocence.

I would be extremely honored if you would leave a review for me. Patti Roberts.

http://goo.gl/LU2obe

An Excerpt from Bound By Blood

Book 3 in the Paradox Series.

"I have loved and lost in so many different ways. And I have died endless deaths… So when I ask myself the question today, who am I? My answer is…I do not know."

Juliette.

Grace is on the verge of discovering her true identity, her ancient origins, and the girl behind the mask, called Juliette, who haunts her dreams. Since her earliest childhood, visions have constantly forced her to relive the lives and deaths of so many others. She learns that those around her are more than they appear - but who is good and who is evil? Trapped precariously between two worlds, how can she possibly fight an enemy that is stronger, faster? An enemy that hides in plain sight, waiting. She can run, but she cannot hide forever…

Chapter 1 – Beasts Of Burden

New World – Darwin 2009

"Run!" A girl's voice screamed into the night, breaking the spell of Damon's kiss and tearing me away from his embrace.

However, it wasn't the warning from the blonde-haired girl standing rigid with bow in hand, preparing to shoot, that alerted Damon to the danger, but the guttural sound resonating from the throat of the advancing beast.

He swung around, pushing me behind him, and then crouched, preparing for the attacking beast. The menacing sound reverberating from Damon's lips made me shudder. In the eyes of any mortal, boy and beast were both adept instruments of death, each in his own lethal way.

"Run!" the girl shouted again over the crashing waves below as she swiftly pulled an arrow taut in her bow until her fingers rested gently against her cheek. Then she took aim, released her fingers, and let the arrow fly toward the black predator leaping high into the air. The arrow, true to its target, pierced the skull of the animal dead centre between its yellow eyes, felling the rancid-smelling beast with a heavy thud at Damon's feet. Immediately, as if on cue, with lips pulled back over a row of razor-sharp fangs, another beast leapt forward, taking its place.

The blonde girl released another arrow, sending it flying through the air. It struck the beast solidly in its hindquarters. The beast howled, whipped its massive head around, seized the quivering shaft between its fangs, and pulled the arrow, coated with blood and sinew, effortlessly from its flesh with one quick flick of its head.

The animal, although wounded, stayed true to its trajectory: Damon and Grace.

Its enormous paws drummed the earth as the beast powered forward at an alarming pace. Then suddenly it leapt into the air, long claws protruding from its paws, ready for its lethal impact.

The girl shot another arrow, bringing the beast down. "Get her out of here, now!" she yelled at Damon, as a bolt of lightning crackled through the black sky, charging it with electricity. "I can take care of this. Go!" she yelled, as she aimed and released another arrow. She shot another, then another, as other beasts leapt out of the shadows cast by the walls at the rear of the two-storey school building.

Damon nodded and called back, "Holly, are you sure you can do this?"

"Yes, go!" she shouted again, pulling another arrow taut in her bow.

Damon grabbed my hand and swiftly spun me around - and we ran... The escalating storm whipped the beautiful long gown around my legs – Grace's legs. I fell, but Damon pulled me to my feet as though my body were weightless. Muddy puddles of water, from the earlier storm, splashed up my legs as I ran, soiling the skirt of the gown.

I could smell the foul breath of the beast as it thundered behind us along the dark cliff face. I could feel Grace's heart pumping in my chest as I clung to Damon's hand. Another wave crashed, spraying us with a mist of salty seawater. I hung on with all of my strength, onto this body - Grace's body.

Although I could feel Grace fighting me with all of her strength, I was stronger, faster than she. And at this moment, even with Grace's surging fear, I was not afraid. Not here, not now. I had been preparing for this for a very long time.

"Are you okay?" Damon shouted, his voice trailing off into the mounting storm. I nodded. Inside, I sensed Grace shaking her head, her eyes wide and frantic, brimming with tears. I tried to subdue her, telling her that everything would be okay if she would just let go, close her eyes, and pretend to sleep. Even if she didn't know it, didn't trust me, she needed me to take care of her…

"Just a bit further," Damon said, indicating a spot just up ahead. "The rocks begin to fall away just beyond that tree. If we jump out far enough we will miss the rocks and land on the beach below. Can you do it?"

'Nooo!' I heard Grace's panicked voice as it rang out in my mind, deafening me momentarily until all I could hear was her voice. 'I can't do it. The cliff's too high. Please don't do this… you'll kill me!' I could feel her fist beating against me from the inside in a vain attempt to escape this insanity. 'It's just a dream,' I whispered to her silently. 'Go back to sleep.'

"Are you ready?" he shouted as we neared the sheer drop of the cliff face.

I spun my head around. The beast was only seconds behind us, leaving us no choice but to jump.

"Yes!" I replied as I felt Grace hold her breath and grip Damon's hand even tighter. She uttered a prayer, 'God help me,' and then whispered, 'I love you.' She squeezed her eyes shut, leaving me blind.

I felt nothingness beneath my feet as we jumped hand in hand, propelling our bodies out into the dark void. Had we jumped out far enough to miss the rocks? I couldn't tell. I felt Grace's human body prepare for the fatal impact as every muscle tensed, leaving me with one thought – that I had failed yet again. I felt the quickening pulse of electricity crackle through Grace's veins, and then her eyelids shot open, giving me sight once again. 'Thank you,' I said silently, praising her.

For a few precious moments, as though frozen in time, we appeared to float, suspended by an invisible thread from the heavens. All at once my hearing became amplified, allowing me to hear the most miniscule of sounds all around me – a twang, the flutter of a bird's wing in flight, a sizzling disturbance in the air currents. Grace's breath – a thud, the cracking sound of bones being broken. Then the hissing sound of air escaping from a punctured lung as one of Holly's arrows tore through the ribcage of the ravenous beast.

A gush of putrid smelling blood and saliva spewed from between the animal's fangs as it opened its mouth and exhaled one last breath. Then its lifeless body, contorted by death, crashed to the rocky outcrop below. A bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, severed the invisible thread that had kept us suspended and we fell. Alarmed at how fast the earth below rushed up towards us, I turned and looked at Damon, searching for answers, but he just smiled, unaffected by our foreseeable death on the sharp rocks below.

I saw then, with absolute certainty, that we had not jumped far enough out from the cliff face. The white sandy beach, which would have cushioned our fall, was still too far away to offer us any refuge from our pending fate.

Had I been wrong to put my trust in Damon? Had this been his plan all along, to sacrifice Grace's life in a bid to take me from this place?

Grace, sensing our looming predicament, inhaled a sharp breath then screamed, blocking out the sounds from the thunderous claps of thunder and the smashing waves that crashed violently all around us - just Grace's scream, exploding in my mind and the sensation of the salty damp air on my skin as we plummeted earthward toward a certain death - Grace's death.

I hope you have enjoyed reading this book in the Paradox series. Perhaps you would be kind enough to leave a review.

http://www.amazon.com/Paradox-Progeny-Innocence-Patti-Roberts-ebook/dp/B006H1U8QM/ref=pd_sim_kstore_2

You can buy the next book in the series, Paradox – Bound By Blood.

http://www.amazon.com/Paradox-Bound-Blood-Patti-Roberts-ebook/dp/B009U73GUA/ref=pd_sim_kstore_2

Acknowledgements And Special Thanks

There really are Angels on Earth!

I would like to say a very special thanks to my very good friend Trisha Dowling, who has spent numerous hours making sure my house is clean. My ironing was done, and I was fed.

Her rocky road and rice salad - divine.

Her friendship and continual support goes beyond any words.

My sister, Sue McGuinness, for all her hours of re-reads from the very first chapter of book 1.

Not to mention her unconditional love and support for the Paradox Series, and especially me.

I am your number-one fan!

To Kerry Newstead, how can I thank you? You have gone out of your way to help someone you barely knew.

I am honored to call you my friend. For all your hours of note taking and re-reads, you shall always have my sincere gratitude.

To KaSonndra Leigh, Collette Scott, Jayde Scott and Natalie Hillier.

All your emails, recommendations, and words of encouragement have been inspirational and have not gone unnoticed.

To all my Goodreads and blogger friends, far too many to mention, for reading and reviewing.

You have all encouraged me to dig deeper. I hope I do not let you down.

And particular thanks go to those of you who have bought the book.

Book 1, in the Paradox Series - The Angels Are Here, was for my Mother, and me.

Book 2, Progeny Of Innocence, is for you, the reader!

The Paradox Series

Paradox – The Angels Are Here (book 1) FREE

Paradox – Progeny Of Innocence (book 2)

Paradox – Bound By Blood (book 3)

Paradox – Equilibrium (book 4)

Paradox – Elemental (book 5)

Other books by this author

Witchwood Estate on Amazon

http://www.amazon.com/Witchwood-Estate-Books-Episodic-short-ebook/dp/B00CJDLY24/ref=pd_sim_kstore_2

Witchwood Estate – Going Home (book 1) FREE

Witchwood Estate – Ferntree Falls (book 2)

Witchwood Estate – Special Edition book 1 & 2

Witchwood Estate – Cursed book 3

Witchwood Estate – Timeless book 4

Witchwood Estate – Witches Bitches book 5

Standalone books by this author

http://bit.ly/A3ALINKparadoxbk2AMAZON

Contact

Patti Roberts

Blog: http://theangelsarehere.wordpress.com/

Twitter: http://twitter.com/PattiRoberts7

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/?ref=home#!/profile.php?id=535092981

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/980856.Patti_Roberts

Book trailer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tryP2CpnUI0

Map of Altair – The Ancient World

http://bit.ly/ParadoxMapandINFO

…To the reader…

Find your silver lining.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

PATTI ROBERTS was born in Brisbane Australia but soon moved to Darwin in the Northern Territory. Her son Luke was born in 1980. She currently lives in Cairns, Queensland where she is writing the Paradox Series of books. Paradox – The Angels Are Here, is the first book in the Paradox Series and was first published as an eBook in 2010 and Amazon in 2011. Print versions are also available in the Paradox Series. Since then, Patti has written 3 more books in the Paradox Series and is currently writing book 5. She is also working on her teen series, Witchwood Estate, which was first released in early 2013. In 2014, Patti released her first standalone novel, About Three Authors – A contemporary romantic drama.

In her spare time, Patti designs book covers and formats books for other authors.

To the reader.

Find your silver lining. I did!

Publications by Patti Roberts

Witchwood Estate

Witchwood Estate – Going Home – (book 1) FREE http://amzn.to/1F7HCHy

Witchwood Estate – Ferntree Falls

Witchwood Estate – Print Edition (book 1 and 2)

Witchwood Estate – Cursed (book 3)

Witchwood Estate – Timeless (book 4)

Witchwood Estate – Witches Bitches (book 5)

Paradox Series

Paradox – The Angels Are Here (book 1) 2010 FREE http://amzn.to/1F7HLL6

Paradox – Progeny Of Innocence (book 2)

Paradox – Bound By Blood (book 3)

Paradox – Equilibrium (book 4)

Paradox – Elemental (book 5) November 2015

Standalone Novel

About Three Authors

(contemporary drama – holiday romance) http://amzn.to/1F7HOqm

Dear reader, your review is very much appreciated. Patti Roberts