Shadows on the Wall Chapter 131

CHAPTER 131:  Separations

by Nicky

Voiceover by Kathryn Leigh Scott:  “Night and winter have come to Collinwood, and the warlock Nicholas Blair is dead.  But the legacy of terror he leaves in his wake will force one woman on the great estate to make a choice that could spell disaster for her … or for every other creature in this world.”

1

            Alexandra March watched the snow fall outside the second story window at Collinwood, just as she had for the past several nights.  If these storms keep up, she thought, idly drumming her fingers against the windowsill that belonged to the newest heiress of Collinwood, the entire town will end up buried under a blanket of white.  And perhaps, she thought, that wouldn’t be the most terrible thing in the world.  Despite the fact that her eyes had been opened to a number of truths in recent months, and despite her understanding now that good and evil were terms too simple for the behaviors of the people she now knew, and that even “monster” had been rendered meaningless, she wouldn’t be sorry to see the entire town of Collinsport, Maine, disappear beneath the snow … or fall into the ocean … or both … forever.

            “You shouldn’t think such things.” 

Alex stiffened for a moment, and then relaxed again as she caught a glimpse of Carolyn Stoddard’s reflection where she sat behind her on her bed in the lotus position, legs crossed, arms extended, fingers curled.  And eyes closed.  Smiling slightly.

            “How do you know,” Alex said, and forced her voice to remain light, “what I’m thinking?”

            Carolyn cracked one eye.  “I know far more than I ever did before.  Many things.  So many things.”

            “Mysteries.”

            “Indeed.  It’s her, Alex.  It’s Leticia.”

            “She’s inside you.”

             “It isn’t that simple.”  Carolyn stretched and swung her legs out from beneath her so that they hung over the bed.  “In some ways I feel like she’s always been a part of me.  Even before she … she disappeared.”

            “And you feel her powers now.”

            Carolyn blinked her large turquoise eyes.  “Yes.  I think they’re enhancing whatever psychic gifts I already had.”

            “So you can read minds now, is that it?”

            “Not completely.”  Carolyn reached over to the bureau beside her bed and lifted the coffee Alex had brought her only a few minutes before.  She sipped it, grateful for the small warmth it provided.  “Stray snatches of thoughts.  Impressions.  Sometimes entire words or even sentences, but not very frequently.  Only when the emotion is very strong … or dark.”

            Alex’s smile faded.  She sat on the bed beside Carolyn. “Dark,” she said.  “Like thinking that it might be better if the entire town of Collinsport fell into the ocean and no one ever saw it again.”

            “Maybe,” Carolyn said gently.  “Something like that.”

            “It isn’t entirely true, you know.  I mean, I don’t always wish for that.  I’ve learned a lot since I’ve come to this town.  This house.”

            “So have I,” Carolyn said, smiling.

            “Not all of it good.  But I feel useful.”

            Carolyn took one of her hands and squeezed it.  “I think you have been.”

            “But not enough.”

            “It’s too early to tell yet, don’t you think?”

            Alex shrugged.  “I don’t always have a strong grasp on my powers, or even what I’m capable of.  And Mr. Best … I haven’t seen or heard from him in over a month.”

            “He’s an incredibly powerful being.”

            “The most powerful I’ve ever met.”

            “He must have some investment in this battle.”

            Again, Alex shrugged.  “I would think so.  But you never know.  Perhaps this is what is supposed to happen.  He’s a big believer in fate.  If it’s the fate of the world to end now, then …”

            “But it isn’t just this world,” Carolyn said, frowning.  “It’s all of them.”

           

            “I wonder,” Alex said, “I really wonder if the Enemy has that much power.”

            “Between him … it … and the others,” Carolyn sighed, “I think they all do.  Aunt Laura ... Roxanne Drew …”  Her face grew dark.  “Gerard Stiles.”

            “We have to take them out.  One by one.  Separated, they aren’t as strong.”

            “But you’re worried,” Carolyn said, squinting at her.  “Aren’t you.”

            Alex dropped her eyes.

 

            Carolyn sat beside her.  “What is it?” she asked gently.  “You can tell me.”

            Alex took a deep, slow breath before she answered.  “What if it’s me?” she said at last.  “What if I’m one of them?”

            Carolyn stared at her blankly.  “One of them?” she said, then laughed.  “Oh, Alex.  You mean one of Roxanne’s people?  But you aren’t!  How could you be?”

            “That’s not what I meant.  What if I’m one of them … the enemy?  Without even knowing it?  Like … like she was?”

            The laughter faded.  “You mean … Victoria.”

            Alex nodded.

            “But you aren’t like she was,” Carolyn said, and took Alex’s hand again.  “That’s what Mr. Best was trying to do, trying to help you with your entire life.  Isn’t that what you told me?  He wanted to help you so you wouldn’t go down that darker path.”

            “Like Victoria.  Like … my father.”

            “Yes.”

            “But I’m still going down my path,” Alex said bitterly.  “I’m not at the end.  When Victoria Winters arrived at Collinwood, she was an innocent.  After this house and this town and these … these people had their way with her, look at what she had become!”

            “That won’t happen to you.”

            “How do we know that?  I have something inside me.  This power.  I didn’t ask for it.  It just … it just is.  And Mr. Best has shown me and guided me all my life, but the power … oh Carolyn, the power is like a wild thing sometimes.  And I don’t know – I mean, I’m not sure …”  She bit her lip.  Her eyes had grown enormous and swam with tears that threatened to overflow.  “I’m not sure if I’m using it or …”

 

            Carolyn’s eyes were equally enormous, turquoise seas.  “Or if it’s using you.”

            Alex dropped her head again, ashamed.

            “I don’t have an answer for you,” Carolyn said.  “All I know is that the power is inside of you, and there’s no way to take it out of you without destroying something fundamentally wonderful about you.”

            Alex felt her cheeks grown warm.    Still she felt forced to add, “I’m not her, you know.”

            “I know.  But I think you’re right.  I think the time will come when you’ll be presented with a choice.  The same choice that Victoria faced.  And you’ll have to take a stand.”

            “A stand,” Alexandra whispered.

            “Yes,” Carolyn said.  Alex looked up, and their eyes met and locked.  Carolyn was smiling.  She squeezed Alex’s hand.  “Will you allow the power inside to control you … or will you control the power?”

2

            “The Dagger required a sacrifice,” Audrey whispered.  Willie’s arms were wrapped around her, holding her to him tightly, and though she held him back, her eyes were locked on the Dagger of Ereshkigal that the witch Maggie Evans held aloft, still dripping with the blood of Nicholas Blair, now deposed; the dust of his passing continued to linger in the air, hovered there, whirling in furious patterns. 

            “What is it?” Willie said, his voice cracking.

            “Ereshkigal was a death deity,” Angelique said.  Her skin and hair had restored itself completely and, as they watched, and with a regal glare downward, the beautiful powder-blue miniskirt she wore, despite the wretched cold outside, reappeared as if it had never suffered at expense of Nicholas Blair’s mystical hellfire.  “A goddess of the Underworld, according to the ancient Mesopotamians.  The Queen of the Night.”  Her lips twisted into a smirk.  “How fitting that she should have caused the final destruction of Nicholas Blair.”

            “The Dagger that separated you from your powers,” Barnabas said, awed.  Maggie continued to hold it aloft.

            “Well,” Willie said, and swallowed, “what do we do with it now?”

            Audrey’s eyes narrowed.  “Yes, Miss Evans.”  Her voice was sibilant, serpentine.  “What will you do with it now?”

            “It could be the answer to everything,” Maggie said dreamily.  Her eyes, darkened to a hellish black, never left it as it danced before her.  “The answer to all that troubles me.  Redemption.  Possible.”

            “Redemption,” Quentin said.  He lowered his eyes and lifted a hand to his forehead and held it there.

 

            “I could cut away the evil,” Maggie said.  “Right … now.”

            Audrey bared her fangs.  Her body stiffened against Willie’s.  She seemed ready to speak … and then recoiled.  A sob contorted her face, and she pressed it against Willie’s shoulder.  He looked to Barnabas, who could only shrug.  “There, there,” he said, and clumsily patted her on the head.

            “Be careful, Miss Evans,” Angelique said steadily.  “You hold a great amount of power.  Wield it carefully.”

            “You don’t need to tell me about power,” Maggie whispered.  Her eyes remained black, but a tiny tear trembled on her lower eyelid and slid down her cheek.  “No,” she said.  “You don’t need to tell me at all.”

            She had crossed the room before anyone could see or stop her; with a flick of her wrist, she sent Willie flying backward, separating him from Audrey.  “What the hell?” Willie snarled, but Maggie didn’t look at him.  Her eyes were focused on Audrey.

            She raised the Dagger.

 

            “The answer to everything,” she whispered.

            The symbols crawled and crawled like insects over her flesh.

            “Redemption,” she said.

            Audrey’s eyes were fixed on Maggie’s.  Her mouth moved but she made no sound; her fangs glittered in the light.

“Cultrum,” Maggie said.  The Dagger flashed.  She held it even higher.  “Sectis,” she said.

And brought it down.

3

            “You think you’re a fairly amazing creature, don’t you.”

            Alexandra wiped the tears away from her face and turned to face the intruder.  Valerie Collins, still wrapped in the flowing white empire-waisted dress that seemed to Alex to be vampire haute couture, perched pertly at the edge of the dust-covered antique chair that had been abandoned long ago in this shadow-strewn corner of the East Wing where Alexandra had come to cry, and now she smiled, revealing a hint of fang.

 

            “Don’t even think of trying anything,” Alexandra growled.  She hoped she sounded tougher than she felt.  “I can destroy you without flexing a muscle.”

            “Oh, I’m aware,” Valerie said.  Her resemblance to Angelique was startling, and, Alex thought, incredibly disturbing.  They might have been twins.  “I’m actually here to appeal to you for aid.  For help, dear.”

            “Why on earth would I help you?”  Alex smiled archly.  “Don’t you remember?  Only a few days ago I used some serious juju to break your hold over Quentin Collins, your little blood-bag.”

            “Quentin was that and nothing more,” Valerie said.  The blasé tone to her voice, the bored expression in her eyes, chilled Alexandra more than the fangs that she refused to withdraw.  How is Barnabas different than other vampires? Alex wondered, and not for the first time.  Though she hadn’t spent an incredible amount of time around him – her resemblance to Victoria was often too much for him, she assumed – she could sense a difference in him, some connection to empathy or humanity that the other vampires she had encountered (like Tom Jennings or Roxanne Drew) seemed to lack.  Horrible, Alex thought with a shudder, they’re horrible.  Even Audrey has her moments; they all did. Except for Barnabas.  What makes him so different from the others?  “A blood bag, as you phrase it so concisely.  And your twentieth century slang, which I actually adore.  It expresses thought and feeling succinctly, pointedly.  It is hideous and harsh and beautiful all at once.”

 

            Alexandra watched her warily.  “What do you want, Valerie?”

            The vampire woman smiled prettily.  “I disgust you, don’t I.  You needn’t answer that.  I can see it in your eyes; I can read you, dearest.”

            “Why shouldn’t I feel disgusted?  You’re inhuman, murderous –”

            “And do you think,” she said, flaring suddenly, her eyes glaring a sullen crimson, “do you truly think I chose my fate?  That I chose to be this … this thing?”  Her fangs glistened; she rose from the chair and stalked forward, moving with the litheness of a great cat.  Alexandra felt her powers rise within her; wait, she thought, gritting her teeth, wait, wait.  “Do you think that I encouraged Barnabas Collins, that I begged Roxanne Drew to make me into a monster?”  She raised her hands and shook them; they had become long, gnarled white claws, each tipped with a curved raptor’s talon.  “And so you see,” the monster hissed into her horrified face, “what I am.  A beast.  A fiend.  Murderous, oh yes, I want to kill and kill and kill.”  And, within the space of a breath, she was human in appearance once again, her porcelain features lacking fang or crimson eye.  “And I want you to help me,” she said.

            “I will never help you.”  Alexandra could feel her gorge beginning to rise.

            “I’ve seen your power,” Valerie said.  “I’ve seen what you can do.  Dark and terrible and amazing things.  And I want you to use those dark and terrible and amazing powers to do the right thing.”

            “And what is that?”

             Valerie smiled prettily.  “To destroy us.  To destroy us all.”

4

            “I don’t know how else to say this.  I don’t want to break up.  I love you.  But I need …”  Chris shook his head.  The wolf hair and fangs and pointed ears and emerald eyes had all receded as the moon, hidden beneath the leaden sheath of storm clouds that continued to hover over the town of Collinsport, finally began its descent toward the horizon, also hidden by the clouds and the snow.  He was naked now, and shivering, standing barefoot in the graveyard at Eagle Hill.  Sebastian, equally naked and barefoot and trying like hell to repress his shivering, merely watched him quietly, unblinking, as he stepped into his pants and shrugged on his sweater and then his wool coat.  “Hell,” Chris muttered.  “I don’t know what I need.”

    

       

            “Some time apart,” Sebastian said quietly.  It hurt like a sonofabitch to add, but he forced himself to add it.  “From me.”

            Chris turned to look at him bleakly.  “Yeah,” he said at last.  His voice was barely above a mutter.  “I guess.”

           

            “Why?”

            Chris looked away, glowering at the stone tombs where they laid out their clothes together just before the transformation overtook them, neatly folded so they could put them back on when the moon went down, here upon the sacred, final resting places of Sarah Collins, and Naomi Collins, and Joshua Collins.  They had been Barnabas’ family, and it was Barnabas himself who had suggested that they use this place on nights of the full moon, since no one came to Eagle Hill anymore.  Except for us, Chris thought morosely, the werewolves, the vampires, the witches and the demons.  The damned.  The monsters of Collinsport.  Using a tomb like a changing room.  “I’m confused, I guess.”

            “About … about us?”

            “About me.  I’m being selfish, I think.”

            “Yeah?”

            “Yeah,” Chris growled.  “You’re my first healthy relationship.  Before you there was J –”  He took a breath.  “Nathan.  And before Nathan there was nobody.  One night stands.  The ones who didn’t get eaten, anyway.”

 

            “Hey, Chris –”

           

            Sebastian was trying to come forward.  To comfort me, Chris thought sadly, and he put out a hand to stop him.  The look of pain, of confusion, that crossed Sebastian’s face hurt him more than he could ever have expressed.  “No,” he said, as firmly as he could force his voice to become.  “I have to say this.  I have to think it out, say the words.  Otherwise I’m going to stay confused.

            “You love me, but you loved someone before me.  Someone who reminded me of you.  So did Nathan.

            “I’m attracted to him.”

            Sebastian said nothing.  But Chris saw how his eyes, for only the barest moment, flared a sullen amber in the dark shadows of the mausoleum.

            “I am,” Chris said steadily.  “I can’t help it.  And part of it, much as I hate to admit it, is because he reminds me of someone too.  And isn’t that messed up?  Isn’t it all so, so messed up?  It’s crazy!”

            “Crazy,” Sebastian murmured.

 

            “Doubles.  It’s all about doubles.  And people who remind us of other people.  You loved Chris Collins back in your own time.  But I’m not Chris Collins.”  Sebastian flinched, and though it hurt him to do it, hurt him more than Sebastian even knew, Chris gritted his teeth and forced himself to step forward, to grab Sebastian’s chin and to turn his head so that they were eye to eye.  “Do you hear me?  I’m not him.  And Nathan isn’t Joe.  And I’m not Todd.  We have to separate ourselves from the doubles.  We have to let ourselves be not confused, all of us.”

            “You aren’t Chris Collins,” Sebastian whispered.  A tear trembled on the lid of one eye; when he blinked, it shivered down the length of his cheek.

            “I’m not.  I’m just beginning to figure out who I am.”  He took a breath.  “And you’ve been wonderful to me.  But I think … I think I need to do some figuring on my own.”

           

            “You’re leaving?  Again?”

            Oh, how that word hurt.  Perfectly chosen, and sharp.  Did Sebastian know how much it hurt him to hear it?  Maybe he didn’t … though Chris had told him, of course, about how he’d fled from Collinsport after Julia’s treatment had gone so monumentally wrong, had transformed him into a loathsome beast unable to maintain any shape, any identity at all.  He’d killed Nathan and he’d nearly killed Barnabas and Julia and after that he ran, he ran as far and as fast as he could.  He’d hidden himself away in the mountains of Montana until Quentin had come to collect him.  So of course it hurt.  Because running away was something that Chris Jennings excelled at.  “I am,” he said, and forced his voice to remain even. 

            “Where will you go?”

             Chris shrugged.  He turned away from Sebastian, bowed his head, lifted the other man’s clothes and then handed them to him, head still bowed.  “I don’t know,” he said, and turned away from Sebastian as he dressed.

            “Not anywhere … with him.”

            Chris’ head snapped up.  “Oh  my god,” he said, “of course not.  How can you even ask me that?”

            Sebastian’s eyes were glowing yellow circles in the semidarkness of the tomb.  “Because you’re attracted to him,” Sebastian snarled.  “Because he would be at your side night and day if you allowed it.”

            “If you allowed it, you mean.  You’re the one that threatened to kill him.”

            “I love you.  I love you.”  Sebastian’s tone shifted; the yellow rings around his eyes faded until they were blue and clear again.  “Listen to me, Christopher.  Please.  Listen.”  He put his hands on the Chris’ shoulders and pulled him in close.  “I have never loved anyone like I’ve loved you.  Even …”  He took a breath.  “You’re like me.  That was something that … that no one has ever understood.”

            Chris’ face softened.  He touched Sebastian’s face gently, brushed the sheaf of sandy blond bangs out of his eyes.

            Then shadows crossed his features and he pulled away, crossed his arms over his chest, and glared at the floor.  “I can’t,” he said softly.  “I’m sorry.  I … I have to go.”

            “I don’t believe this,” Sebastian whispered.  He turned away too, crossed his arms, held himself miserably.  “I don’t believe this is happening.  I can’t believe you’re leaving me.”

            “I’m … sorry.”  Chris moved quickly past him toward the wrought iron gate of the mausoleum, paused for a moment as if he were about to say something, stop, rethink the entire plan.  Sebastian didn’t look at him.  He hung his head, staring darkly at the floor.  “I have to go,” Chris said again, and this time he went.  And Sebastian stood where he was in that lonely tomb for a long while after.

 

5

            “Oh my god,” Audrey gasped from her place on the floor, or, as Willie suddenly realized, one of the Audreys lying on the floor gasped. 

Because now there were two.

            “Audrey?” Willie whispered.  “Audrey, are you …?”

            The other Audrey leaped to her feet, snarling and hissing like a giant cat.  For a moment horror swam over Willie, washing out his vision, but he wondered how he ever could have mistaken this … this beast for the woman he loved.

            And a beast she was.

            Her ears were pointed and grew far back on her head; her eyes seemed two globes of blood whirling inside blackened pits; her mouth swallowed the bottom half of her face and jostled with teeth like knives that jutted out of her gums at a myriad of angles.  Her nose was upturned, like that of a bat.  And as she lifted her hand to swipe the air, Willie saw that it was webbed now, and each finger was tipped with a yellow talon like a vulture’s claw. 

            This Audrey, he knew instinctively, was pure vampire.

            While the other …

            “She’s done it,” Angelique whispered; beside her, Julia had taken her hand.

            Barnabas only watched, his face gray, lines knife-cut beside his eyes and at the corners of his mouth.  Oh my god, Willie thought, dismayed, he wishes it had been him.  He wishes Maggie had used the Dagger to separate the vampire from him.

            Carolyn rushed to Audrey – the human Audrey – rushed to her side and knelt beside her, where she gasped and spasmed; her feet kicked a mindless tattoo against the drawing room floor; her hands clawed at the rug.  “Help her!” Carolyn screamed.  “Julia, do something!”

            Julia began to stride forward, but the vampire was quicker.  It leaped to its feet, faster than Willie’s eyes could take in, moving with demoniac speed, and before any of them could move, it had slammed Julia against the wall with one of those terrible monster-claws.  Julia shrieked as the thing thrust forward its head, aiming those butcher knife teeth at her jugular.  In a moment it would tear out her throat and delight in the blood as it sprayed across her beast’s face.

            “Congelari,” Angelique commanded, and the vampire froze in place, snarling and struggling against the witch’s invisible bonds.  “Julia, get away from there!” she hissed, but Julia was already wriggling out of the monster’s grasp.

 

            “Veni, ignis,” Maggie whispered, and held up one hand, and the vampire was engulfed in a sheet of flames.  It wheeled backward, shrieking, pinwheeling its freakishly long arms, but the inferno surrounding it only intensified.  Willie dropped to his knees beside Carolyn and wrapped his arms around Audrey, shielding her from the heat of her vampire doppelganger as it blazed away into eternity.

            “Oh Willie,” Audrey sobbed and buried her face against Willie’s chest, “Willie, Willie.”

            “It’s okay, sweetheart.”  Willie rocked her and murmured more meaningless platitudes, but they seemed to be doing the trick.  “It’s okay, it’s okay,” and he kissed her feverish forehead.

            The vampire’s mouth yawned open; from within, liquid fire squirted out of the gaping cavity.  Its screams grew louder, then louder, and louder still … and then there was only the roaring of the fire, and then nothing.  The flames vanished.  The vampire had been destroyed, obliterated utterly.

            Audrey lifted her face from Willie’s shoulder.

            “You performed your craft well,” Angelique said to Maggie.  She nodded her head respectfully in the other witch’s direction.  Maggie, silent, returned the nod.  Her eyes continued to blaze with black fire, but her cheeks were filled with color, and she was breathing heavily.  Exhilarated.  The entire experience, Willie realized, all of it, using the magic, but especially, he thought, especially destroying the monster provided her an incredible high.  And she hates it, he knew.  She hates using the magic, but she loves it at the same time.  How can that be?

             She wishes she had done it for herself as well, it suddenly dawned on him, and he felt a strange mix of embarrassment and shame, though there was no way he could articulate the reason behind those feeling.

            Then he looked down at Audrey, and it was all washed away.

            This is the first time, he thought, awed, that I’ve seen her as a human.

            “Thank you,” Audrey said.  She stood to her feet, weaving unsteadily, but Willie supported her.  Her eyes were on Maggie.  “You saved me,” she said bluntly.  “You could’ve used the Dagger to help yourself.  You didn’t.”

            “No,” Maggie said quietly.  “I didn’t.”

            “Why?”

            “Honey,” Willie said uneasily, but Audrey’s gaze continued to drill into Maggie alone.

            “I have a lot to answer for,” Maggie said at last.  She blinked her eyes a few times and shook her head as if to clear it, but then Willie saw that it wasn’t her head she was trying to clear.  When she opened her eyes again they were the soft chocolate brown he had grown accustomed to.  Human eyes.  But still, they all could see the magical symbols that whatever ceremony Nicholas had performed had caused to march up and down her skin.  “I know that.  I believe,” and she exhaled softly, smiling while she did it, “I believe that I will take every opportunity for redemption that I can find.”

            Audrey continued to stare at her with mistrust marring her features … then she ran forward, dropping Willie’s hand, and threw her arms around Maggie’s shoulders and embraced the other woman tightly.  Maggie allowed this but didn’t move; to the others observing, it seemed that Audrey was holding a statue of purest marble in her arms.  But at last, Maggie began to relax, inch by inch.

            “Thank you,” Audrey said.  “For everything.  For my life.  Thank you.”

            Maggie opened her mouth, but no words followed; she paused, as if she had prepared to say one thing, then thought better of it.

            The others watched her warily, unable to help themselves.  And she knew they watched.

            At last, “You’re welcome,” Maggie murmured, and that was all she said.

            

 6

            You’re separate from them.  You know that.  They’ll never accept you.  You’ll always be alone.

            Alex couldn’t the tears back any longer.  The words of the vampire woman still rang in her ears.  She could still hear her terrible laughter, even as the flames Alexandra March summoned blazed up around her, digging into her, the black flames of hell that were a gift from her father, accursed Petofi.  “You can kill me,” Valerie Collins had shrieked, “and you should, oh you should, but there are others!  My work isn’t done!  Use it!  Use what I’ve given you!  Destroy them!  Destroy them all!”

             Destroy them all.

            She sat in the Parallel Time room now.  Downstairs they were celebrating because something important had happened, some essential change had been wrought.  What was it?  She almost knew.

            Because of my powers.  Because they’re so wonderful and they tell me what will be and what I can do to help focus the world and they make everything so very simple.

            She smiled bitterly; she couldn’t help it.  Oh yes, so simple.  Like destroying the vampire Valerie Collins, holding her in place so she couldn’t dematerialize and escape, a simple enough trick, then summoning the flames of the netherworld to rise and consume her.

            She looked down at her hand, where she held the Amulet of Caldys.  A simple thing, really.  Hardly worth all the fuss.

            It breaks curses, Angelique had said. 

            Such a simple thing.

             You can destroy every one of us.  Every evil thing in this house, in this town.  Do it!  They won’t accept you, they’ll never love you, none of them.  Not even Carolyn Stoddard.  Do you think she’s your sister now?  She will turn on you eventually.  Because you were right.  You are one of them.  You are the Enemy.

            She choked back a sob.

            And the Amulet gleamed up at her as if it held its own secret life.

7

            “I’m an idiot.”

            Sebastian started and nearly dropped the glass of wine he held.  A vintage Quentin had given them as a little gift last month.  No real reason, he’d said with his customary lopsided grin; just maybe, he told Sebastian later, maybe it was a little token of his esteem, for the gratitude he felt toward Sebastian for helping his great-grandson control the monster inside him.  Only nothing can control it, Sebastian had told himself, sipping the wine before the fireplace in the cottage he and Christopher had shared for the past few months; he refused to allow any tears to fall, refused to become the Animal so he could foam and raven, refused to do anything other than sit calmly and drink the wine and muse about men and love and monsters.  What did I do? he had asked himself, over and over.  How is this my fault?

 

            He started now at the sound of his lover’s voice, but he didn’t turn, couldn’t face him.  He held tightly onto the stem of the wine glass and concentrated instead on the flames.

            “I really am though, you know.  I got as far as Rockport before I had to turn around.”

            Sebastian said nothing.  The wine was delicious.  It warmed him when he thought nothing else would.

            “I thought about the things I said to you.  I could hear them.  I couldn’t stop hearing them, actually.  And I thought, you idiot.  Christopher Jennings, you goddamn idiot.”

            Sebastian set the wine glass down on the wooden floor and folded his hands over his chest and stared and stared into the fire.

            “Because only an idiot would go away like I did and leave someone like you.”

            Chris was kneeling beside him now.

            His lips were very close to Sebastian’s ear.

            “So maybe I’m not such an idiot after all,” he said.  “Look.  I want us to be together.  I don’t want to be apart from you.  Not ever.

           

            “Not ever again.”

             Sebastian closed his eyes.

            Christopher’s lips brushed electricity against his earlobe.

            “Can you forgive me?” he said.

            Sebastian didn’t say anything.  He was too busy kissing him to say any words.

            And later, love over (and over) (and over again), lying together in their bed, Christopher slept beside him, and Sebastian, looking down into his beautiful face, placid in his repose and without worry, thought, I will never be alone again.  Never. 

 

TO BE CONTINUED ...