Aleister was waiting for me in the driveway when I got home. Al is a crow, and my familiar.

Like children, a familiar is not something I ever thought I'd have, much less want. Al was an accident.

During the weeks I'd spent in Volkir's house, Al—then just a normal bird—flew headlong into a window and almost died. I'd healed him with the power of the ancient spell inhabiting my body at the time, and passed on something of myself to him in the process. Now he was bound to me, and stuck around like a strange and highly independent pet.

"Hey, Al." I tossed him a piece of the day-old bread I'd bought along with my dinner. He hopped over and picked it up in his beak, croaked in thanks, and flew off to enjoy it in private.

Something white lay on the ground nearby, and I went over to see what it was.

It looked like a little quarter-sheet flyer of some kind—the sort people stick on bulletin boards to advertise events and things. Most of it was taken up by a symbol with three spiral arms around a triangular center. Below this was a place, date, and time: Silverton Beach, April 6, 9 pm.

It was a weird thing for Al to pick up, but at least it was worthless. He had a habit of "collecting" things, many of which were distressingly valuable, like jewelry and keys. I'd put up so many "found" notices at the post office, I'd had to tell the postmaster I was a metal detectorist. I could tell from the look she gave me she thought 'repentant kleptomaniac' more likely.

Inside, I threw the piece of paper in the trash and put the pot pie away for later. My phone pinged with a text from Soren, telling me was staying the night in Arcata and expected to be back late sometime the following day.

I didn't mind. Until very recently, I'd spent most of my time happily alone. Nonetheless, I'd grown used to Soren's presence, and as the afternoon darkened into evening and the fog crept in from the sea, loneliness settled over me and made itself at home.

Trying to ignore the feeling, I spent several hours working on my dissertation. Like my uncle and my mother before me, I studied archeology and anthropology; specifically, the ancient magical traditions of the Mediterranean and Middle East. I was almost done with my degree, but if I didn't finish by the summer, I risked falling out of the program altogether.

For years, my uncle had generously supported my studies. Only now I knew those funds had come from his deals on the black market, and the sale of valuable antiquities to private buyers.

After his death last fall, Soren's father had taken care of the legal matters. On paper, Uncle Theo died in a car accident; in reality, he'd fallen through a portal to another dimension. Regardless, he'd left his house and all his assets to me.

I'd been surprised—and paradoxically pleased—to discover that these assets were severely limited. It meant he hadn't gone into smuggling for the profit. As misguided as it was, he'd done it for me.

The downside was that with very little of my own, I'd be forced to take out a loan if I didn't graduate on time.

I knew that all I had to do was mention this to Soren, and he or Volkir would give me whatever I needed. Which was why I was determined to say nothing, and to finish by the end of spring.

Money was meaningless to Soren and his Father, but to me, it represented an imbalance in our relationship that at times made me uncomfortable. Soren could go anywhere, buy anything, do anything. I could not.

Not that I wanted to. I was more than happy with what I had, and I didn't mean to be proud or ungrateful. I just wanted to be able to stand on my own, if I needed to.

Around midnight, I shut off my laptop and crawled into bed. The sheets were cold, and the bed felt too large for just me.

Even though sex wasn't part of our relationship, I loved feeling Soren beside me at night and when I woke in the morning. With anyone else, I would have worried that this wouldn't be enough, but Soren was different.

If being bitten on a regular basis was a downside of dating a vampire, Soren's ability to absolutely control his body was a definite advantage. He could choose to feel arousal, or not. This relieved an enormous sense of pressure in me, and I no longer had to worry that my asexuality left him frustrated or unsatisfied. Which, weirdly enough, was how I felt now with him gone.

In the morning, I found another text on my phone, this time from Ben and Matt.

Matt's sister was visiting them the following week, and they were hoping I'd give her a tour of the university. I sent back a quick reply saying I'd be glad to.

I spent the day practicing my meditation and healing techniques, and by early afternoon I felt strong and energized. Maybe I was getting better, after all.

In the afternoon, I worked on my paper and tried not to check my phone too often for a missed message or call.

By evening, Soren had yet to return, and I'd had no word from him all day. A mild worry had taken root in my gut, but I resisted the urge to call him. He had his own life and affairs to attend, after all.

That night I fell asleep on the couch where I'd lain for several hours, phone in hand, feeling abysmally pathetic. The old me wouldn't have cared if someone didn't text or call, often for weeks at a time. Even when I was with Ben, I wouldn't have noticed. But the old me hadn't been in love.

~

I woke before dawn, cold and stiff from sleeping on the couch. It was too late to go back to bed, and too early for breakfast, so I showered and went for a walk.

After wandering the clifftops for a bit, I decided to go down to the beach and see what the tide might have left in the night. Carefully, I picked my way down the steep, narrow steps to the pebbly shore below.

The beach wasn't long, and was hemmed in at either end by protrusions of land. The bank was steep, and the waters filled with sharp black rocks and churning waves. Not a place for a swim, but a good spot to enjoy the view and watch the breakers coming in.

I walked the strand to the end and back, and then stood for while at the edge of the waves. Al joined me, and strutted up and down the tide-line looking for tasty treats. I tried not to look too closely at what he considered edible.

A sparkle of light on the clifftop made me look up, and I noticed one of the neighbors standing on his balcony. Our little bungalow was on its own to one side of the cliffs, while a row of similar but larger houses lined the other side. I hadn't met any of the people who lived there yet, and had thought that they were empty vacation homes.

The guy saw me looking and waved. I waved back, and he turned and disappeared inside. If that was the extent of the expected neighborly interaction, I'd be perfectly content.

I moved a little closer to the waves, near enough that they almost reached me, and stood on small outcrop of stone, worn smooth by water and sand. The first rays of sunlight crept over the edge of the world, and the breeze was fresh with the promise of a new day. A sense of peace settled over me, and I figured I might as well continue my practice from the day before while I was in the right frame of mind.

I took a deep breath and let my consciousness relax, grounding myself in the awareness of my breath, and in the sound of the sea. Reaching for the ambient energies, I touched them lightly, sensing their ebb and flow. Al flew over and alighted on my shoulder, anchoring me, and I let myself fall away.

In my mind's eye, I focused on the rhythm of the sea, the shifting shapes of the waves and the constant exchange of energy as they came and went. I felt I could almost touch it, the deep blue-green sparkle of the element's essence.

I'd worked with basic ambient energy, but I'd never tried working with something specific, like water. Wondering what would happen, I breathed deep and called it to me, enjoying the sensation of soft coolness as the energy flowed and swirled. It felt like my mind had touched on the edge of something vast beyond my comprehension, and in my imagination, the world's oceans moved like a sleeping god.

I suppose I should have known better than to close my eyes so close to the waves.

Al's squawk of alarm was the only warning I had before a waist-high wave knocked me off my feet. The water was strong and surprisingly cold, and it dashed me mercilessly against the rock on which I'd stood, rushing over me in a wall of sand and foam.

I rolled and scrabbled wildly for a handhold but found none on the smooth stone. A second surge of water lifted me and pulled, and I tumbled into the wave's icy grasp.