"All living things contain a measure of madness that moves them in strange, sometimes inexplicable ways."---Yann Martel, The Life Of Pi

November 20th, 2015
Aubrey Parish, Louisiana

Though he doesn't know it, Scott Feila's saving grace is the fact that Colton is in such an enraged mood that when the elevator takes him to the correct floor, he runs right into Azzie. Colton is not an overly large man, but Azzie is unusually petite for a grown woman and she is always in motion. He secretly thinks of Azzie as a vaguely creepy Tinkerbelle.

She doesn't seem to be physically hurt, just stunned by the unexpected force of the collision. Azzie has the strangest expression on her face that Colton has ever seen.

The tears in Azzie's eyes are what makes the Sheriff calm down and cool off, forgetting all about Victor and Scott for a moment. "Azzie! I'm sorry. I was going too fast and I didn't expect anyone to be standing there."

The Sheriff couldn't have guessed Azzie lurking around the corner of Sophia's desk when he stepped out into the hallway, but he stills feels sorry about it. Even though Azzie is far from a child, it's easy for him to feel protective of the small and bubbly woman.

Colton examines her, and leans down a little to look into her eyes. "Azzie, are you okay? Can I get you a soda or a chair to sit down? I'm really sorry.  I shouldn't have been going so fast. My mind was---other places."

Azzie's face stares blankly, as if the small girl isn't sure what happened. "It's okay. I guess I would like a Coke, that would be very nice of you." She nods, her dark eyes unusually wide. Colton wonders if he is strong enough to give Azzie a concussion. Instead, she leans in, and whispers, "You were talking to the spirits. They heard you. Don't worry, I'll keep your secret safe."

Colton almost stumbles as he straightens up, an arm around her shoulder. His perplexed face studies her, and he laughs. "Azzie, I think I hit you a little too hard. Come on. Sit here with Sophia and I'll find you a soda."

Azzie's face shines toward Colton, as if she is seeing something different than usual. She skips a bit as he walks her behind the reception desk. "I was going to go check on the girls and the new soul that will be moving in. Oh, and I also have to check on the man on the floor."

Sophia's head jerks up so sharply, Colton almost breaks out laughing. "Azzie, what man on the floor? What's all this about a new soul? You didn't tell me any of this. "

Colton lingers at the desk, even though Azzie sits in a chair beside Sophia. She starts spinning around, which definitely is not the proper course of medical treatment for a person-to-person collision.

"I was going to!" Azzie's body language does not seem overly concerned as she spins. "When I talked about the new soul in the room and how strong she was, the man who was being kind of obnoxious and grabbed my arm went "boom". I really didn't do it. He fell down on his own."

Colton gives a hearty chuckle at the mental image of little Azzie causing Scott to faint. "The man is Scott Feila." He fills Sophia in on the missing details, not restraining a smile. He'd been in such a bad temper, wanting to beat the life out of the smug punk rocker, but Azzie had taken care of the situation for him. "He's been havin' a hard day, as things go. I brought the guy in because his girlfriends, both of 'em, are also roommates. Nice kinda setup for a guy, I'm guessin'. The girls were attacked in that robbery on Ivy Lane. I had a hard time findin" him. He was off on a bender. Guy's a hard-core boozer. A glass of whiskey'll wake him back up."

Azzie nods her head in agreement. "He is like Damon." She says this so sadly, it's hard for the Sheriff not to hug Azzie. "Alcohol took away whoever he used to be."

Sophia nods, her face understanding. Colton looks at Azzie with a devious grin, and lowering his voice, he asks, "Did you really mean all that business with the new soul, or were you just screwin' 'round with Scott because you didn't take a likin' to him?"

She stops spinning and giggles. "No, that part was true. I didn't really mind he fell down, though. The new soul is very strong and fighting to stay. It's been hard. It is always around poison and getting jostled around and no one seems to hear it. I do, though." Azzie's eyes look at Sophia, and she asks quietly, "Can you make sure to protect her? The new soul, I mean. She needs help."

Colton's face softens at Azzie's plea. One day, the girl would make a wonderful mother. Sophia frowns, and looks at Azzie in concern. "Azzie, there's no extra soul in that room. It's not haunted, if that's what you mean. There are just two young ladies like you who got very hurt."

The Sheriff clears his throat. "Miss Sophia, that's not what she's meanin'. She can't help but put things delicately. She's sayin' one of them girls is expectin'. " Colton has the good grace to look slightly uncomfortable about the conversation.

"Poison and beatin', well, she ain't wrong 'bout that neither. Even before the incident, not much goin' on in those houses on Ivy Lane but sex, drugs, booze, and some voodoo shit that's probably just herbs and crystals. Sorry 'bout the language." Colton smiles at Azzie apologetically, and she nods. She looks happy someone understood her.

"Azzie's askin' to tell the girl she's in that way so she can clean up her act. It ain't too late for either of them girls. They're young and got mixed up in a bad situation. Bein' a parent is sometimes a quick cure for immaturity."  Sophia's lips turn into an "O" shape of understanding, and she searches for the files.

"Azzie, I know you mean well, little lady. You still can't talk about a patient's medical condition without consent in front of other people. No more going on about souls and spirits. The poor girl in that room is already terrified she was bitten by a vampire." Sophia closes the charts and shakes her head. "We did tests on both the girls when they were admitted. Neither are pregnant."

Azzie pipes up indignantly. "You're wrong. She's there, it's just no one can hear her. Please look harder."

Sophia sighs, her face clearly saying she doesn't want to hurt Azzie, but medical tests don't lie. Colton winks at Azzie, and says, "All due respect, a traumatised young lady talkin' how she's bein' bitten by a vampire might be meanin' somethin' aside from too many drugs. A girl two or three months along probably feels like she's got a personal vampire. I'd be listenin' to Miss Azzie on this one."

The tired-looking nurse nods. "I'll do another test on them. Medically speaking, it's unlikely. One of them was almost beaten to death and required brain surgery. The other suffered so much emotional trauma she's had a psychotic break. If either of them were pregnant, the likelihood of miscarriage is very high."

She pats Azzie on the head, and says, "I'm sorry, Azzie. That might be all you're sensing. You're a very empathic person and sometimes we miss things. Let me go get you a Coke, okay? Then we've got to go check on the one who fainted." Sophia leaves quickly. Colton can tell from the fast-paced steps she's anticipating some tears from Azzie and would rather not stick around.

"She doesn't understand." Azzie sighs as if the weight of the world is on her shoulders. "Some souls are always stronger than others."

Colton reaches over the counter and squeezes Azzie's hand. He had known the girl since she was nothing more than a strong soul fighting her way through a situation not much different from Scott's. It was no wonder she identified with the circumstances, maybe a little too closely.

Azzie's parents hadn't made it. The strange young woman who wasn't just named after delicate flowers but looked liked one, she was the strong soul who found a way.

Never judge a book by its cover, Colton thinks with a smile. The Sheriff hopes the three in the hospital room---three that are possibly four--- find a better outcome.

He has a kind of admiration for Azzie that shines through whenever he talks to her. Briefly, he wishes Brian would prefer women to the Bible. The girl who claims to talk to invisible spirits and the young man who believes he has a connection to all kinds of things no one can see would be a good pair.

All the tension and nervousness leaves Bryn's body as he steps out onto the landing of the seventh floor of the Chronicle. Iona isn't warm and fuzzy but she's not like people make her out to be, he thinks to himself.

He doesn't speak as he follows her into a spacious office with a large table, a station for making coffee and a machine that spits out Coca-Cola and Sprite, and a tray of little sandwiches and even smaller pastries on a platter. Bryn can't help but eye them. He is often hungry but he's learned how to be. Life on the road comes with discomfort and sacrifices. Bryn is the kind some would call a fool. He'd rather go hungry than steal or beg.

Bryn calls it honour.

Iona laughs, her gaze drifting to the little spread in the middle of the table. "I suspected you'd be visiting close to tea time today. I hope you are at least a little hungry. Make yourself comfortable."

Bryn watches as the impeccably-dressed Iona prepares tea. He just hits the button for Dr. Pepper. It's the first time he's seen one of these machines that didn't need coins. It just gave him his Dr. Pepper. Bryn considers that a very generous machine.

He politely puts a few of the tiny foods on a plate. Without thinking, he adds a few more. He's not an overly large man but he's strong, energetic, and knows how to eat. Bryn knows he's nowhere as dainty as Iona is about things, but he hopes she understands.

"You've been showin' yerself to be a kind lady,  Miss Iona."  Bryn slides into a chair. "Very thoughtful. I can't say it's all what I been expecting, yeah? Seems people don't take a shine to ye easily, right?"

Bryn's observation was blunt but not impolite as he cracked open his Dr. Pepper and took a swig from the can. His accent is sometimes thick but he is a plain-spoken sort. The statement just makes Iona laugh.

"Are you saying you're surprised I'm nice? Do you think people don't like me?" The slate-blue of her eyes study him in expressionless curiosity.

Bryn fidgets, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "I certainly am not meanin' that in a way to hurt your feelings, lass. I'm only payin' heed of how kind you are to a wanderer like meself. I think it's nice when a lass is fancy an' proper. It's an old-fashioned sorta nice."

As he looks her over, he realises that's what Iona reminds him of. All the black and white shows that come on the television really late at night have a pretty lass with pearls and an apron, and dressed like she's off to somewhere special even though she isn't. It made Bryn smile a little to run into the real thing.

"I know people don't like me. I just don't particularly care. That's my sister's department, always wanting other people to be happy." Iona shrugs a little. "People who say things about me, most of them have never even tried to have a conversation with me. They might learn I'm a pleasant person if they tried." 

Bryn nods in understanding as Iona pours her tea. "I like ye right well enough. All the stories I read, well, comin' this way made me excited to explore. When  I found the place, I didn't totally arrive right side up. My auto got itself stuck on a high hill lookin' down a river. An' I right sure saw my first monster, yeah? I was more spooked than I thought would happen."

Bryn takes a large bite of the sandwich, hiding his mouth with the napkin. "I'd be all kinds of pleased to hear about the Masquerade. No one ever told me that kind of story afore you. "

Iona nods, and she says, "It's in the packet that you get when you leave your car and sign your name to come in. There's ten laws and that's the second one. Everyone knows what it means except the humans and they kind of gloss over it. Never underestimate the capacity for people to not want to do anything that takes effort, like reading." She laughs and it's a genuine sound of amusement to Bryn's ears.

"The Masquerade means everyone has to look like a regular person in public. What people do in private, that's their business, but in public there's no magic and no creepy stuff. A vampire can't just bite you."

Bryn looks skeptical. "That's real then, yeah? I been chasin' all over the place wantin' ta meet a real-life vampire or wolf or find some long-lost sea monster.  Can't say I've had any success but the stories surely are enteraining to listen to. How do you know fer sure, what's real and what's story?"

Iona smiles softly, and her Southern drawl comes out of hiding for a moment. "Why, that's why I brought you here, Mr. Aeron. I have a mystery that needs to be solved. If I can, it will change everything forever."

Bryn stops chewing, drumming his fingers on the table. "Well, it's right hard to turn down a good mystery, innit? The mystery got to do with monsters, then?"

Iona's face says she is amused, but she nods. "When I was studying back in New Orleans, I met a very nice man. He was older, reassuring, and comfortable to be around. We'd spend hours and hours just talking at a cafe. He was one of the smartest men I'd ever met and that made me want to marry him. The trouble was, that was out of the question. He was already married."

Bryn's lips threaten to press together in disapproval, until he quickly inserts a bite of sandwich. "I see." He nods politely, not particularly interested in the woman's love life. He pulls out a notebook and a pen, in case she says anything curious.

"Yes. You know how things go. He married a beautiful woman nearly 30 years younger. He wanted to talk about politics and she was interested in shopping and parties and where they'd have to be seen next." Iona shrugs. "My sister is the same kind of person so I'm used to it. Some women are happiest in a marriage with good sex and a credit card."

Bryn colours a little. He wishes people knew he didn't need every detail, but minus the soap opera parts, the story was starting to get good. "That's kind of the way of things nowadays, yeah? It's not fer me to say, but kind of a pity. Please, go on."

Iona relaxes in the chair, more at ease as she pulls apart a little pastry with jam in the centre. "The difference with this man was, one night he got drunk, and told me all about the wife. He started speaking about her like some kind of royalty, how she didn't even need his money because she was worth a fortune." Iona pauses, a look of disdain crossing her face. "She was some kind of royalty, and still is. Vampire royalty. She doesn't even hide it very well. It's not like she's dripping blood or anything, but she's like one of those old Gothic paintings. I wouldn't be surprised if she walked around with a raven on her shoulder. It doesn't matter, though. People love her."

Bryn leans in, starting to write in the notebook. "He told ye he married a vampire lass? An' he was just a regular person, sharin' over pints?" The look on Bryn's face is incredulous.

"He wasn't exactly regular either. He played it off like it was all just stories, but I knew better. His name was Hugo Leveau. He was the oldest surviving descendant of Marie Leveau, a witch who has a cult-like following in New Orleans. That fact was just something he could play for attention to get votes when he ran for Mayor. The thing people didn't ever know was that he inherited the coven of gifted humans passed down through her." Iona shrugs, but she looks sad. "Some men lead double lives. Hugo, he had three or four. He had his shiny, sparkly blood-sucking wife, two ungrateful kids from a previous marriage, he was a respected judge running for office--and he led the most popular Coven in New Orleans."

His hand scrawls furiously, and Bryn wishes he'd brought his laptop with him. "Miss Iona, ye lost me a wee bit here. If Covens are for witches, what's a gifted human?" Only half of him was believing Iona's story, but damned if it wasn't an interesting tale.

"It's a polite way of saying someone is a witch, wizard, mage, whatever terms you want to put to it. Those people aren't monsters, they're just regular human beings who live a little longer and know how to practise one form of magic or another. In order to have the ability, both parents have to be gifted. Sometimes, it skips a generation, and shows up through a grandparent on each side, like getting blue eyes instead of brown. Even then, three siblings might all be gifted but one will be stronger than the others." Iona pauses as the sound of Bryn's pen moves against the paper. She realises she's probably said more than enough, but she had to finish the story,  so he knew. Someone had to know.

"Being a witch has never been a good thing. Breaking the Masquerade often gets a person set on fire and not just in Aubrey Parish. That's what happened to Hugo. They said it was an accident and he fell asleep smoking a cigar. He lit some papers on fire, and the whole building went up. He died leaving the town without a Mayor and Marie Leveau's Coven without a leader. It was very sad." Iona toys with the uneaten pastry. "It still is. The thing is, I know it wasn't an accident. That's why I need your help, to prove the truth."

Bryn's face is that of a person who's been told a particularly compelling bedtime story. "Miss Iona, can ye really say all this going-on about magic and vampires and love triangles is true? How do ye rightly know he wasn't leg pullin' or tryin' to impress? Even if the police made mistakes, I'd rightly think his little ones would inherit everythin', including the witch stuff."

Iona shakes her head firmly, her ice-blonde hair not daring to move. "I know because he was going to sign the papers that night, making me heir to the Coven. His kids were born normal, so they are irrelevant. He was also drawing up papers to divorce his wife. She cheated on him something terrible. The two of them, Hugo and his wife, they'd host these parties everyone in New Orleans talked about." Iona lowers her voice, speaking delicately. "You know, sex parties. There was an actual dungeon in their house. I saw it with my own eyes. He wanted to put a stop to it all. A Mayor can't be attached to that sort of thing. But she loved being desired and treated like a Queen. She had a lover who took it all too seriously, wouldn't give him up."

The blonde woman looks tired suddenly, and Bryn notices the vulnerability. "New Orleans sounds like a kind of place I'd never call home. I've been a time or two, but these sort of stories keep me away, yeah? Too many rich people needin' to live like that. So, ye got in touch with me because thinkin' a vampire lady killed her witch husband?" Bryn takes one last bite of a finger sandwich, realising he's probably had a dozen but they're delicious. "Why would ye want a witch Coven, even if you were allowed?"

Iona chuckles. "I contacted you because I know she killed him. I came here to be alone for a bit, after that whole debacle. It was over a year ago. I wanted to put the past behind me. But Marie Leveau's Coven, the Avati, they're not just in New Orleans. For a long time, they've been in the Parish. Before the peace treaty, when all the manors were emptied and the Masquerade was in effect, magic in Aubrey Parish was a way of life."

She finally sets down her tea cup on the matching saucer. Both seem so delicate, so impractical to Bryn's eyes. Yet, they have a kind of charm. "I want it because it belongs to me. I did one of those ancestry charts to prove it. Hugo Leveau was a cousin to my mother Helene, who has also passed. I am older than Lala, so I can inherit through my mother since none of Hugo's children could."

Bryn's eyes look cloudy, confused . Iona continues, a small catch of emotion in her voice. "I never needed him to sign those papers and if I hadn't asked he might still be alive. I am next in line. I'll go back to New Orleans to prove it, but first I want justice for Hugo. I want the people who killed him to go out in a blaze of glory, just like he did." Iona's voice is almost vicious. "The wife, her name is Eleni, and she moved to the Parish about a month ago. She's always at Mudbugs. Everyone knows what kind of people own that place. She's like a little Queen with a Court of admirers there. The whole thing makes me sick. Her lover, he's had a lot of names. He came here almost two months before she did. He forgot her fairly quickly, screws anything that moves."

Iona shakes her head. "I don't know why they're here, but since they are, I want this to be the last place they ever are. I won't disturb the peace treaty in the Parish, not unless someone else does first. I just want justice and I'll go back to New Orleans to take everything that should have belonged to me."

Bryn drops the notebook and pen on his lap. "Sorry, sorry. I need to be sure I'm understandin' ye well and proper, Miss Iona. You're tryin' to tell me ye happen to be a witch cheated out of her inheritance by a vampire lass murdered her husband and left town--and you're both here?" Bryn looks both amazed and frightened of Iona.

"Ye didn't really send fer me to hunt down monsters. Ye wanted me to know they exist because ye are one, but it's against the rules to say so."

Iona sits up, a glare consuming her face that is as sharp as any knife. "I am not a monster. I am a Queen who has been locked out of her kingdom. I need your help to take it back and to get justice for the man I loved."

Bryn feels both a sense of anger at being tricked into this place and everything Iona had left out about herself, and an overwhelming curiosity at learning how many of her claims are true. "You can calm down, Miss Iona. No offense intended. Ye can see how leavin' out the part about what you are from the very beginnin' seems like a trick. Since I got here, I've seen a man turn to a bird an' a girl callin' herself the Watchkeeper, so I'm partial to believin' most anything right now, yeah?"

Iona's hands stay folded on the table, displaying her perfect pink nails in a prim fashion. "Does that mean you will help me? I'll pay your room and board, and whatever salary seems reasonable. I've never hired an investigator before."

Bryn thinks of what he'd usually charge, and then doubles it. It isn't because of the dangerous people he might encounter. That part sounds a wee bit exciting to Bryn. It's because dishonesty should have a price. He writes down the figure on a piece of paper, tears it off, and passes it to Iona. "This is what I'll be needin' from ye every week, Miss Iona. That, plus expenses at the Hotel. I don't feel so keen sleepin' by that tent city down the river and they said no to sleepin' in the auto."

He smiles a little. "I can't be too sure right now how I feel knowin' what ye are, it's a shock, but I'll help ye, lass. Sounds a bit of an adventure to me."

Iona stands and holds out her hand stiffly. "It's a deal, then? I'll draw up papers unless you'd rather not have anything in writing." 

Bryn shakes her hand, hoping she doesn't have any weird spell-casting abilities if he touches her. "Miss Iona, I'm not anyone of any notice. There's no call fer being formal with me, yeah? When I leave this place, it'll be like I was never here at all. I'll be back in my auto, movin' on." His smile is a bright and contagious one. "No papers, lass. Where I'm from, a handshake is as good a promise as any ever made."

Eleni sits on the bench of the gazebo in the park, where she's remained motionless and unnoticed for hours. She ran out of Mudbugs so quickly, through rain and mud that made her heels her only flaw, that no one either cared enough or dared to follow her.

She stares at her phone, tempted to call Marius. She wasn't a weak-willed person, but she was the sort that after enough time had passed, needed comfort and company. Friendship was never enough for Eleni, though she didn't know why. The dark-haired vampire had a need to be held, and touched, and shown love and desire. If not love, lust would do well enough, but she knew how easily that complicated everything. 

Eleni didn't have to look any further than her neighbours to see what frivolous lust and unrequited feelings did to people. Scott is like Eleni, only colder. He needed the love and admiration but didn't know how to offer it. Trying to learn turned him into a bumbling and angry teenager. Eleni didn't even need to meet Lala to see straight through her. Lala didn't do anything without an agenda or for pure hedonistic indulgence. 

Alisaundra is different. She's simply a small-town girl learning life is far more complicated than she ever imagined. She pities Ali slightly, knowing the girl loves someone incapable of the emotion. Eleni had to learn the hard way what it is like to deal with men who hate themselves so deeply, they could not possibly love another. Too many take their frustration and impotence out in violent ways. She couldn't help Ali to run without betraying a man who, for all his flaws, would die protecting Eleni. The vampire hadn't survived for as many years as she had by giving up her allies, not until they became too much of a liability.

Eleni couldn't do for Ali what Henri and Lucretia had done for her, so she'd done the next best thing.

She gave them all a second chance. Eleni hoped she'd done the right thing, or at least made the choice that would to the most good. Even if Scott didn't love Alisaundra, he could give her a good life and she would always be the type to put his needs ahead of her own.

No matter how much Scott behaved as if all he wanted was Eleni, the things that would make him happy were not those Eleni could offer. She did what she needed to do and released him back to his own life.

I was designed to make a pleasing mistress and a terrible wife, Eleni smirks to herself. The smirk is not without irony.

Now Odelie had arrived and Eleni felt doomed to unhappiness in Aubrey Parish. If having Scott here was a dent in her plan to start over, Odelie's arrival obliterated the idea entirely. Eleni knew when another woman disliked her.

Eleni's youngest daughter despised her. If Eleni had a chance to be happy, Odelie would do everything in her power to put a stop to that.

"Eleni! You're going to catch your death sitting out here in the rain." A concerned-sounding voice is suddenly behind her, jolting her from her reverie. Her eyes lift to see Brian, who is putting a large jacket around her small shoulders. The way her collarbone is too-visible through her skin, anyone would conclude Eleni must be freezing.

She might be. She doesn't feel it. Eleni pulls herself from her thoughts and forces a smile. "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes! I had not seen you in so long, I thought you'd forgotten me. "

Brian blushes deeply, and Eleni can feel him struggling with his focus. He wants to keep his eyes and attention locked on her, but instead, they roam over the shape of her body and the clinging fabric. "N...no. I could never forget you, Eleni. It's just--- well, I thought we were maybe friends. You stopped answering my calls and were never around. I just felt sad and wondered what I did wrong. Of course I didn't forget."

Eleni notices the change, the way Brian repositions her so he can put arms around her waist, thumbs pressing into the fabric of her dress that she wears like a second skin. For a moment, a little shiver of unexpected pleasure moves through her body. "And who taught you how to do that?" Her murmured question is almost rhetorical. "Please, come sit. We'll talk if that's what you'd like."

Brian's voice sounds far away, distant. "No. I want to talk, but I also want this moment, with you. I am about 95% sure I want this more than conversation." His hands pull her already small waist tighter, moving unlined and inexperienced hands over the flat surface of her stomach. She knows that if she reacts, it will be alluring enough to pull him so far into her web that she will not release him. Still, she merely arches her back, her body offering itself as a gift. Whether for pleasure or admiration, she doesn't know. Eleni doubts Brian does either.

"What has gotten into this town? First my own kin calls me a whore, now you come along and treat me as if you assume I am one." Eleni's voice is unusually lacking in anger, and there's no protest. "If that's why you can't forget me, go ahead. A body is just a body, Brian. Do not think that putting your hands on me will make me care for you. If anything, I shall care infinitely less. That's why I don't return your calls. I can't give you the things you want. The things you want from me would only harm you. They are not your passion. They're merely self-destruction."

There is only silence as his thumbs move lower, parting her thighs slightly and causing her body to speak to him with a shiver of arousal. "You are the most elegant woman I have ever met, Eleni. I would never use you or hurt you. I want to make you happy. Maybe I don't know how but I can learn. Wanting to deserve you, to have you in my life, in my bed--Eleni, how is that self-destruction?" His voice is the kind, pleading one she is used to. There is something else, though, a confidence in how he speaks in how his hands move.

It is exquisitely pleasing to Eleni, who loves being put on display, a fact she can't conceal when her eyes close. She waits for the strong hands to find the delicate cloth between her legs, and when they do, she grabs his hair almost angrily.

"How dare you tell me no? I told you to sit down and instead you do this. You want to prove you are in control because I happen to be..broken..." Eleni gasps in surprise at the voracity of her own needs, suddenly consumed with a desire to take the shy young man anywhere. Even here would do. Masquerade or no Masquerade, it wasn't as if anyone was standing in the rain to watch. At this point, she honestly didn't care if they did.

"No, Eleni. You don't understand. I want to make you happy. I want to know what it's like to give you pleasure. I want to understand passion, the way we talked about. " His entire body begins to shake as he grabs her hair just as furiously. "I understand it, Eleni. Your fingers not touching me makes me hurt so much I might explode. It's the best feeling I've ever had. "

Eleni whimpers in response to the words, a sound of need and wanting and urgency. Something about his innocence coupled with the fingers that slid underneath the wet fabric and tormented her---it all pushed too far.

"Now. I want to feel you, now. Hurry." The fingers that caressed her had her in a frenzied, angry, hungry state. "Making love is not always slow and deliberate. At times, it is fast and rough and about giving someone exactly what they need. At times, need is everything that will ever matter. I need you. That is a dangerous game but it is far too late now. I need danger and I need you."

The words elicit a soft groan, and she hears the sound of a zipper, a cry of pleasure as his own hand grasps hard flesh that awkwardly moves toward her, brushing against her lightly. Her eyes are closed tight when she surrenders to the weight of a warm body wrapped around her. The light and fumbling touch is all that is needed. Shudders begin to take over her body as she feels his heartbeat, strong and confident and nothing that he actually is. "Please! Wait for me, Eleni. You have to slow down. Tell me what you need me to do. I don't actually...I don't really know."

Eleni can feel his blush consume her. With a single motion, she puts her hands around his hips, pulling him into her so quickly and deeply it is savage, almost inhuman. "This." Her voice is a barely heard whisper, and then a cry of pleasure and joy and sadness as the young man almost immediately erupts into a violent climax.

Eleni feels his pleasure and relief and the utter submission that comes with turning desire into passion finally realised, and then extinguished. Her own release is seconds later, and world-consuming, as her lips find the soft spot between his neck and the blade of her shoulder. The taste of him fills her and empowers her, and as all her desires are simultaneously satisfied, she hears the familiar voice.

"It doesn't matter who he was or who he was going to be, he is yours now. He's seen this moment over and over again, every time he dreams. You finally gave fantasy an opportunity."

The laughter that comes from the voice is smug, a mocking sound.

"You always were a smart woman, Eleni. Consider this my way of saying thank you. It is also my way of saying I care. You don't look after your own needs well enough."

Eleni is not thinking of the voice, or Brian. When his heat is a searing comfort that takes over her body, she sees only Odelie, bursting into flames that incinerate her being.

"Thank you," Eleni murmurs in her lilting, sultry tone, lost in the flesh of the pure, virginal young man who wasn't. Only when she feels his figure fall into limp unconsciousness does she pull away, her tongue licking the wound she leaves behind. It turns into something akin to a tattoo, a crimson heart.

Pulling Brian's jacket off, she covers up the poor unconscious young man. "I can't just leave him like this." Eleni explains aloud, as if anyone is nearby to ask. "That was not Brian. He would never behave like that. He wouldn't even understand how if he wanted to. "

"We all behave in strange ways, Eleonore. You know that well. You could have stopped him, run away, said no, or a million other things. You did not. I wasn't even in your head, and you did not."

"He will remember. Most of this, he will remember. When he does, his infatuation will become hatred. If not hatred, at the very least, resentment." Her voice is a whisper, so no one sees her talking to the air.

The sound of laughter echoes in Eleni's head once again. "Some think you are a very beautiful and alluring woman, Eleonore. It is possible you gave that young man the time of his life. The next woman he beds will have unusual shoes to fill."

"Perhaps it is only you who finds me beautiful and alluring, and you're not even real. You have no conscience, and so you're likely to be forgiving." Eleni shakes her head. She needed to sleep. She recognised her grasp on reality fading and there was no one to carry her home this time.

"Ah, Eleonore. If you do not know how you affect others, it is a pity such gifts are wasted. I do not know why I must meddle to get you to do the things that please you the most." Eleni looks down at the ground, biting her lip. "Even now, you are not satisfied. You want for so much more. I wish I could be the one to give it to you." The voice sounds to Eleni as if it is winking, and a small laugh escapes her. " In my eyes, you will always be quite desirable, but a strange little girl, nonetheless."

Her crimson lips stained twice, they press together as if telling the voice what she thinks of it. In a blind fury, she races home to her place, carrying the limp and indecently exposed future priest into her house and up the stairs. After depositing him on the bed, she hurriedly closes the blinds.

The voice makes a thoughtful sound. "As if that does anything for anyone. I can always see you, Eleni. How much time must go by before you learn that?"

Eleni peels off her clothes, not caring who is able to see, and steps into the shower. The hot water feels as if it is scalding her, though it is not. The sound of the water pressure drowns out the voice, and the stain of blood and rain and sex and hatred falls from her body.

Even sinners seek absolution in their own ways, Eleni thinks, her own mind bubbling with regret, and the hunger to do it all over again.

In her hospital bed, Alisaundra's eyes close for her. She is tired of seeing Scott lying there on the ground helpless, tired of hearing Lala's rants and tirades about haunted places and vampires and Death. The perky little redhead soothes Ali with her visits, but made Lala irrationally angry and louder than usual. Ali didn't understand why she came by. The girl didn't care about Ali or Lala, she was only there to check on some soul stuck in the room.

Even ghosts are more important than I am, Ali thinks to herself bitterly.

She is tired of looking at the room filled with cheerful crap and dull television. More than anything, she is tired of whatever is constantly pushing at her own brain. It's is like a finger that pokes over and over again.

Remember, remember, remember. The chanting only stops when Alisaundra closes her eyes.

She sees a figure that looks much like her climbing out of a yellow car that says "Taxi" on the top, carrying two suitcases and covered with the dust from a bag of Cheetos.

Alisaundra's mother, a spitting image of her daughter before time and life had taken away sweetness and beauty, grabs the bag of Cheetos from Ali's hand. Ali is at the mirror, her blonde hair in a tight bun and her athletic figure perky and appealing in the modest but cute blue and white uniform.

"No one needs a pudgy cheerleader. It's not a good look. You have to be careful of that stuff, Ali. In these parts, girls come out of the womb with strong thighs and birthing hips."  Alisaundra's mother indicates her own drab, somewhat stocky Midwestern figure. " Have a kid or two and you can eat all the Cheetos you want." 

In the background, a song plays, and Ali turns it up. She dances around while trying to put on shiny pink lip gloss that tastes like berries. It's her favourite. Even when she gets out of the middle of nowhere and can have anything she wants, she's still gong to buy that same lip gloss. It smells like youth and excitement and cotton candy.

Ali is surprised her mother doesn't yell about the noise, so she turns the radio up louder, singing along, off-key. 

On either side of her pink and white bed, she sees white beside tables and matching lamps. They are small and plain, so Ali covers them with sheer pink fabric. She thinks the effect is beautiful , though her mother says it's a fire hazard. 

Each table is covered with meaningless trinkets that mean the world to Ali: movie stubs, photos, hair clips, dried flowers, the sash from Homecoming Court waiting for a more important place. Ali is not surprised when she hears the voice yelling. Instead of turning it down, she opens the window, inhaling the scent of autumn grass and fading lilacs.

Soon Winter would come and take away all the excitement and possibility of Autumn and the rare warm day. For now, it was all pumpkins and hayrides and making out in the back of Landon McCleary's new decade-old car. She even had a bottle from Bath & Body Works that smelled exactly like cinnamon and pumpkins. Today, though, it was more bubble-gum-pink Spring than anything else.

Ali turns up the radio even more, aware it's blaring but she loves it. It makes her feel like she's in the middle of a bustling city, at a rock concert. There is screaming, voices fighting. Ugh. Her parents are too busy arguing to care about the music, which means she's on her own for a ride to the game.

A boy suddenly jumps through Ali's window, exuding charm and obviously thinking about the one thing every boy who has ever climbed into a girl's bedroom window is thinking about.  Ali looks confused. It's not Landon, with his touseled hair and dimples. Instead, it's a man who is old but still sexy, wearing sleeves and random piercings.

Alisaundra giggles, wondering to herself what else is pierced. He's not smiling, though.

"Hey, I know you!" She blows a kiss, bouncing around to the music. "Are you going to the game tonight? Can I get a ride? I promise I'm not any trouble."

He says nothing, not even when Ali bats her lashes sweetly.

"I know you're not." The man finally answers, almost yelling over the music. "I'm the one who's trouble."

Ali giggles. "Good. Life around here is boring. I could use some trouble."

His face is almost tragic. "I'm only going to hurt you. I'm sorry, Ali. I'm so, so sorry. I don't know if I've ever really know what sorry feels like until you."

Alisaundra is about to ask what he's sorry for, but the tattooed arm stops her. Before she can get out a word or a scream, it picks up the pretty pink lamp and slams it into the side of her head.

She clutches the side of the bed, words caught in her throat. She looks around and everything is gone . Outside the window, it is dark and she sees a firefly or two. She's missing the game.

Her favourite song disappears, turning into more of a screech, one of those heavy metal kind of sounds she despises. It thankfully starts to fade and she sees the fireflies, a reminder to get up. People are waiting for her and she will never speak to Landon again. Men shouldn't hit women, no matter what they did. 

Alisaundra's hand moves, putting the pink gauzy material from the broken lamp over her face out of boredom. Waiting to be rescued is boring. She tastes her pink lip gloss and laughs as the pretty gauzy fabric turns everything pink.

It's trippy, the way she sees pink fireflies.

She blinks quickly. The irritating music suddenly fades as she hears the voice of her mother, coming back into Ali's room to yell at her yet again.

The figure that appears isn't Ali's mother, but a girl she doesn't know. She could be Ali's twin, except this girl has her hair dyed dark black and wears too much makeup for a girl her age. Despite that, she's not much different from Ali. She is a little prettier, a little edgier. For some reason, she looks like a movie star playing a glamorous prostitute.

When the girl speaks, it's in a whisper. Ali can hear it, despite the drums turning into a constant, high-pitched wail.  "I tried to warn you. " The girl's whisper is one of sorrow. "You don't know me but I could see you. Every day, I hoped you'd have a happy life. It's like--if you could avoid turning out like me, I did something good."

The dark-haired teen shuffles a shoe against the floor. "I always wanted to do something good. I don't think I did. I didn't have a lot of time, though."

Ali is confused. The girl isn't anyone she knows and Ali isn't like her.

The girl brushes her long black hair away from her face, a gesture that seems both seductive and innocent. Ali notices she wears a silken robe with tiny little maribou slippers. "Someone hurt me too. A lot of people did. I kept smiling, though. I behaved and smiled until I couldn't smile anymore. I didn't want you to be like me, but you are. We both have a lot of secrets."

Ali tries to find the strength to shake her head when the girl reaches out her hand. 

"You can come with me if you want to. Secrets don't matter anymore and no one ever hurts you. It's kind of nice. I still get to see the Red Question whenever I want. Keegan still visits me but he's not the only one." The girl smiles happily. "Even though they can't see me, I feel loved. Isn't that all either of us wanted?"

For a minute, Ali pauses, her hand lifting up.It feels like it would be like pulling a pile of bricks to inch her hand to the girl's.

The brunette smiles at Ali. "It's okay if you don't want to. It's up to you. But if you don't, could you maybe find Keegan and tell him how much Ava loves him? Please?"

Ali is confused, her hand halfway to the girl named Ava, but it is hard to move. She wants to blink the girl away. She tries a few times but it's as if her eyelids don't move.

Ava is nice but doesn't make Ali happy. She doesn't want a friend, and something is very weird about Ava. She wants out of the bad dream and for someone to help her turn off the annoying screeching heavy metal station. People screaming isn't real music.

She wants her mother.

She wants to share how she sees pink fireflies, and that maybe they are faeries. Ali remembers a story about a mysterious place where all the fireflies are really faeries. One day, she'd like to go there. It sounds magical.

Alisaundra blinks again and the strange little girl disappears. Nothing takes her place. This time, she sees nothing and remembers nothing. She is thankful, though, when the horrible screeching stops.

Tears fill her eyes but they refuse to open or to blink. It is like that time she had to use fake eyelashes for the Spring musical, but the glue got everywhere and her eyes were glued shut until someone came to help her. 

This time feels very lonely and different. Everyone has left her behind.

I didn't get to say goodbye, she thinks to herself, full of self-pity. Please don't leave me behind.

She can still hear voices outside of her room, and she wonders when her parents will stop yelling at each other and come to get her. The words, though, are strange ones. They make so little sense but have that same tone she hears when she is in trouble and grown-ups mean business.

"Time of death, 11:53 PM."

Please stop. Don't go. Please don't leave me here alone.

It is the last thing Alisaundra has time to think before it all fades away.