Crisis

We were three days on the road when Dalene began digging through her bag, her face a study in quiet desperation as she pawed through her few belongings searching for something she knew she would not find. Aiko was driving with Neff beside her. Dalene and I were in the back seat.

?When did you run out?? I asked her.

Her gaze settled on me, her eyes a curious mixture of fear and resignation. ?This morning,? she said. ?I?ve been trying to stretch it out, but?? She sat back, her head lolling to one side as she stared out the window. ?I?ll be ok.?

?No, you won?t.? I tapped Aiko on the shoulder, ?We need to find a motel. We?re stopping for a few days.?

And so we landed in small town in Virginia. Our hotel room left some to be desired, but was still an immense improvement over the one-room apartment we had shared in New Orleans. It had a separate kitchen and a bedroom and was located at the end of the unit so we had only one room adjacent, and that was empty for the moment. We paid for a five day stay, though I planned on leaving as soon as possible- I still worried Ham?s car would be found too soon, that somebody might remember us coming through that town in Mississippi. Everything I knew demanded we stay on the move, but we had run out of time.

I watched her as we settled in, trying to gauge how bad it might be. I had seen opiate addicts shake free from the drug?s grip in a few days with little more discomfort than one suffered during a bad cold. I had also seen them die after days of agony and delusion. I had little idea what to expect in this case- would the way she injected the drug make it worse? Was heroin more addictive than the laudanum of the previous century, or less so? We were in the wrong place to do this, but there was no choice. In the hours since we stopped Dalene had become increasingly agitated, pacing around the motel room, unable to sit for more than a few minutes at a time- it had been little more than six hours since her last dose. I reached out and touched her lightly on her arm, making her jump.

?Let?s take a walk?? I suggested. She just nodded at me and we headed outside with Neff and Aiko?s eyes trailing after us.

The motel rested by the side of what used to be a main road until the highway came through. Now it was slowly mouldering, as were other roadside attractions along the way. We walked in the afternoon heat, Dalene?s pace quickening with every step until I nearly broke into a trot to keep up with her long-legged stride. I said nothing, letting her attempt to burn out the nervous energy racing through her body, putting first one, then two miles behind us without slacking before she began to falter.

She was sweating profusely, tears streaming down her ashen face as she slowed, then stopped, trembling from head to toe. We were standing in front of a Dairy Queen so I gently led her to one of the picnic tables under the trees.

?I can?t do this,? she whispered, ?Angie? I can?t, I can?t?? She started to cry in earnest now, her shoulders shaking as she buried her head in her hands. I stroked her head and she was burning up despite all the sweat.

?You need something cold to drink, baby. Can you wait here while I get you something? Can you do that??

She did not answer so I slid one finger along her cheek to her jaw and coaxed her head up until her red rimmed eyes were on me. ?Can you wait here just a minute while I get you something to drink??

?A Mr. Misty?? She almost whispered it, like a child pleading for a treat.

?Sure, baby,? I smiled at her, ?just sit tight, okay??

She nodded at me, then dropper her eyes. I watched her a moment, then decided she really would be okay and walked over to the window, getting in line behind a family that had pulled in while Dalene and I were talking. I could not help but notice the attention we were drawing to ourselves, two young women, strangers in this town, one of us in obvious distress. I ignored them, keeping a furtive eye on Dalene until it was my turn to order.

I paid for two cherry Mr. Misty?s and a cup of ice water, then turned and froze. A Sherriff?s car had pulled into the parking lot and stopped next to our picnic table, a young man in uniform was standing beside Dalene. I steeled myself, then put on my best concerned face and walked briskly to the table.

?Now Miss,? the Deputy was saying, ?you really need to help me here. I need to know your name.? He radiated a mixture of suspicion and genuine concern. Dalene had deteriorated even further with the added stress of his questioning, but he had only just arrived. There was still a chance to avoid any problems.

?Day, cher, you need to drink this,? I told her, putting the French lilt in my voice, letting it shake a little as I pressed the cup of ice water into her hands, then looked up at the deputy.

So much conflict there was within him. He was young, perhaps twenty-two, and very much a son of Virginia. Part of him was moved to chivalry- confronted by this wounded dove his instinct was to do everything in his power to succor her. Part of him was driven by Southern chauvinism- here were two young women, apparently alone, obviously not from the south, all of this leading him to suspect it would be best to simply round us up and send us across the county line before we caused any mischief. It was a tribute to his humanity that the ingrained suspicion was being held in check, but it was still no certain thing.

?We stopped at the motel down the road, the Shade Tree, we had to. Day didn?t feel well this morning? and she got worse through the day. We thought getting out of the car, some fresh air??

Dalene coughed, choking as she drained the cup of ice water, her body shaking as she gasped for air between the spasms in her chest. Both of us looked at her and when she turned her face to me her eyes were bright red, tears streaming down her cheeks.

?I don?t think I can walk back,? she whispered.

I could not have scripted it better- she was so helpless, so scared. The deputy?s body language shifted drastically and when I looked into his eyes I did not even have to ask.

?Don?t you worry miss; I?ll take you ladies back to the motel.?

His name was Jefferson Carlyle and he treated Dalene as if she were made of spun sugar and moonbeams. He was still unsure of me, but I radiated so much gratitude his suspicion simply crumbled in the face of it. He did not approve of our accommodations as the Shade Tree served mostly blacks, but when we arrived at the motel Aiko and Neff bolted to the door as I helped Dalene out of the back of his car and suddenly it made sense to him.

I spoke up before either of them could say I word, telling them to get Dalene into bed. Things were under control and we could not risk reigniting Deputy Carlyle?s suspicions. The three of them were only three days off the streets and there was simply no expecting them to behave with discretion, but they all seemed to know to leave the talking to me and it seemed everything was going to work out.

?You never told me your name,? Deputy Carlyle said, breaking into an almost sheepish grin.

?Angevin, Angevin du Marmande. I can?t thank you enough for your kindness.? I took a half step closer to him, looking up to his eyes without being too bold. It was an understated invitation, merely a suggestion that should he want to meet again I might say yes? and a scream shattered the spell.

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A Sudden Change of Plans

I seldom attempt anything drastic without having a sense of certainty regarding the outcome. I require no guarantees, but there must be some logical expectation of success. Unfortunately I set out that morning without such expectations, instead simply counting on Jacques?s greed or, failing that, being prepared to use force- the latter option not being looked upon with any favor whatsoever. I would have taken more time to plan, but events were moving so quickly there was no other choice. If we simply ran, Jacques would send people after us. I had the resources to make it easier, but I knew that would bring everything crashing down: we were the four of us against the world and that was the only strength holding Dalene together and through her, Neff and Aiko as well. Even this plan, assuming I could see it through successfully, was fraught with potential for disaster

The morning air was thick, the temperature passing the eighty degree mark even though it was barely seven o?clock. If there was sweat upon my brow it was as much from nerves as from the heat. The heavy overnight bag pulled at my shoulder as I made my way to the hotel to meet with Jacques, but the pistol taped to my back was the heaviest weight to bear. Those few people out and about paid me little attention as I was dressed like a tourist rather than a whore. I passed people who knew me and they never looked up, a symptom of the human predilection for placing people into categories: I could not be Angie because I did not look like a whore and Angie was a whore. A predictably flawed bit of logic, but it relieves one of the need to think about what one sees, and it served my purpose that day.

I reached the hotel and paused at the steps. There was no doorman. In the fourteen months I had spent here I had never once seen the door unguarded. I stood for nearly a minute waiting for somebody to appear, but it became an uncomfortably long time and I had to either go inside or move on. I climbed the steps and entered the lobby only to find another oddity: there was nobody at the desk. Jacques?s mother always watched the desk Sunday mornings since there was little business going on. Jacques liked to believe she knew nothing of what he did, but in truth her sweet, grandmotherly exterior was home to the heart of a toad and soul of a crocodile.

I peered over the desk and found the small chair tossed on its side, but nothing else seemed amiss. Still, there were too many things out of place and I reached back under my blouse to peel the heavy snub-nosed revolver from my lower back. I wadded up the duct tape that had secured it and stuffed that in my pocket, then held the revolver low as I carefully made my way back to Jacques?s office. The entire building was eerily quiet and when I turned the corner I saw the door to the office was ajar. I set the overnight bag down against the wall and stepped quietly to the door, listening for a moment before pushing it open with my toe. I took in the scene with a single glance, then turned and took up the bag, heading for the front door. At the front desk I scooped up Ham?s car keys from the ashtray where he always left them, then went out the door, crossed the street and dashed down the alley to the parking lot.

The Falcon convertible started with a simple twist of the key and the temperature gauge showed it was still quiet warm- it could not have been parked more than fifteen or twenty minutes. I pulled out of the lot and headed north, away from our flat, then stopped at a gas station to put the top down. Next I turned towards the canal, crossing at the first bridge with no traffic, and the gun went over the rail and into the brown water. After that I followed a circuitous route back to our flat, parking in the alley behind the building.

?Get up!? I hissed at Aiko when she opened a blurry eye to see who had walked in.

She shook her head and sat up as I went to the couch and nudged Dalene hard. She lashed out at me and I grabbed her wrist, pulling her off the couch where she landed on Neff who was only just stirring.

?Damn, Angie!? Aiko moaned, ?What time is it??

?It?s early, get up. We need to get out of here right now.? Dalene started to say something and I stamped my foot emphatically. ?No questions! Get moving- we?re leaving in ten minutes.?

?What?s wrong?? Dalene finally asked as she struggled into a pair of hot pants.

?Jacques is dead. So?s Ham, Gillie and Aggie, maybe more.?

All three of them froze, staring at me.

?Oh my God, will you three just move!?

It was more like twenty minutes before I could get them out to the car even though we left almost everything behind. Each had a change of clothes and we?d brought two guitars since most of our instruments were junk. When we reached the alley and they realized I had Ham?s car all of the doubt left them because Ham never let anyone drive his car, ever.

?Where are we going? Why are we going?? Dalene asked as we left Metairie on the Causeway, striking out across the lake.

?Right now we just want to get out of Louisiana and lose this car, then I was thinking New York City. Why? I?d think that?s obvious.?

I described for them the scene at the hotel- Gillie and Ham face down with their hands tied behind their backs, each with a bloody hole on the back of the head. Jacques slumped over his desk and from the amount of blood it looked like his throat had been cut. His mother had been sitting on the couch against the wall, looking like she was simply napping except for the small red hole in her forehead. It was clearly not a simple robbery- somebody was moving in and taking over and that somebody was pretty ruthless.

?I?m not sure I like New York,? Dalene said, and I could read her mind just by looking at her face: too close to home.

?Me, either,? Neff shouted from the back seat, ?You think New Orleans is bad, wait?ll you?re on the street in the Big Apple.?

?We aren?t going to be on the streets in New York!? I laughed, suddenly feeling the tension and uncertainty drain away. ?Look in the bag on the floor back there.?

Aiko reached down and unzipped the overnight bag, then almost screamed at what she saw.

?Where did you get this?? she shouted, almost laughing herself as she held up a bundle of twenty-dollar bills.

?I knew where the key to the locked box was hidden, so I cleaned it out,? I lied. Dalene looked at me with a mixture of awe and suspicion, but said nothing.

?How much?? Neff asked, and I told her I had no idea, but that was also a lie.

The bag contained two hundred thousand dollars in twenties, fifties and hundreds, Jacques?s price for our freedom. I still wonder to this day what his reaction would have been had he lived to receive it. That it became our lifeline over the next three years seems nearly karmic.

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An Aside

?It?s not really fear,? she finally offered. ?It?s more akin to shame. It?s also been self-indulgence, as I?ve been letting you try to sympathize with me. That?s a nice feeling. And, you may not realize it, but I do care what you think of me. It?s not something that I worry over, but? in truth I?m no saint my friend, and no innocent.?

?You think I?ll stop liking you?? I asked, unable to keep the irritation out of my voice. After the past two months it seemed pretty juvenile, especially coming from her.

Note: What follows may be distressing to some readers

?Not quite,? she replied, turning her head to one side to look at me. It was almost pretty, except for the cold seriousness in her eyes. ?What I am afraid of is that you?ll come to see me as dangerous. Wicked even. I don?t like that. But perhaps you should, and I don?t like that either. You might even come to fear me.?

?Fear you? I already do, at least a little. You?re something way beyond my experience. You?re rich and maybe even a little capricious. And,? I grinned, ?you pack a wallop.?

She smiled faintly at that, but her eyes didn?t smile with her lips. For a second, I wondered if she?d had more than one reason for bringing that pistol with her today. But as I thought it, she stiffened.

?You know you?re in no danger here, today. If you don?t know that, then? then we have little more to talk of now. Or ever.?

?It would help if you?d just tell me what?s on your mind. Why would I fear you?? As I said it I reached into my pocket and produced the recorder, deliberately turning it on.

She looked at it, then back at me, before turning her gaze out across the river again.

?I am a murderer,? she said, her voice expressionless.

?You?ve killed people. I can?t imagine living as long as you without being forced to do that at some point.?

?I?ve killed people out of convenience. I?ve killed? I?ve murdered because it felt good to kill, because I didn?t see any reason not to. I?ve killed men mostly, but also women? sometimes people whose only mistake was to encounter me when I just didn?t care??

I didn?t say a word, just waited. Eventually she spoke again.

?The first time? the first time was in a place much like this.

?Her name was Saennuz. She was the mate of the patriarch of the clan and as is often the case in such things she was the real power in the group. Her man enforced the rules and kept order, but in the dark hours of the night he took her counsel and marked it well. She was very intelligent, beautiful by the standards of the time, and quite ruthless. She despised me.

?I suppose it may surprise you but in the years after finding a new tribe for Attuz, I slowly learned that life was still easiest for me as a slave. I was wise enough to leave him behind before he aged, as painful as that was for the both of us. As I could not allow myself to fall in love again, life as a valued, skilled property was generally easiest if I were to stay among humans, and for the longest time I still did.

?So it was many years later that I found myself among Saennuz?s people. Seannuz?s man bought me from a village in a valley near his own. He knew I was barren and in the simple calculus of power politics he thought I would make for a welcome diversion in a clan that was somewhat bereft of women. I had been in the previous clan for several years, keeping time with the old shaman. I?d learned all I ever would from him, so I welcomed the chance to move on.

?Of course, he failed to consult with Saennuz on this. Mind you, she had nothing to fear from me. I couldn?t have babies and everyone knew it, but I was young, and healthy, and pretty, and strong. Jealousy overrode her common sense.

?I did everything I could think of to mollify her. I deferred to her in all things. I took every nasty, filthy task she could hand out and acted grateful to have the work. But nothing satisfied her.

?It came to a head that first summer, after there had been a gathering with some of the neighboring clans. A few matches were made and Saennuz concluded it was time to get rid of me.

?Her man would have sent me away if she?d told him to. He hated all the friction, but she never suggested it. Instead, after the gathering she became even more unbearable. She was pregnant again, her sixth child, and it made her insufferable in general. Perhaps that is why I failed to understand what she had in mind.?

Zsallia paused, and stared out at the water. Her tone had been almost a monotone, though there was a tiny waver to it that might have been from the chill. Finally she went on.

?Saennuz told me one morning to follow her to the river. She?d been having good luck with a fish trap she?d set up near the bank and wanted me to spend the day there. It was light duty even if it would be all day?and we would be alone. We arrived at the trap and I saw she?d set it up just after the bend of the river. Some trees offered shade, which made it easier to see the fish when they came up against the barrier of rocks. It was a nice piece of work, but it was also a bit treacherous. The current picked up a quite bit there, and the bank fell off into deep water if you stepped out too far.

?She asked me if I knew how to swim. I had my back to her, watching the fish trap, but something in her voice made me decide to lie so I told her ?no?.

?She must have used a rock because the next thing I knew I was floating downstream, choking on river water. My head was throbbing with pain.

?I managed to fight the current and make my way to the bank and once I caught my breath I realized I was not too far downstream. Strangely enough I wasn?t even angry. I considered leaving. I could let her have her little victory, move on down the river, and find a new place, but something about that idea left me cold. I liked this clan.

?I made my way up the river. It wasn?t far. I found Saennuz calmly working the fish trap and I stopped to watch her. She was just spearing fish and tossing them on the bank, humming a happy little tune, utterly unconcerned. Somehow that sight disturbed me far more than the idea that she had tried to kill me. I was over five hundred years old at that point, so she wasn?t the first to try that. But the idea that she would do it and then just go about her business? it annoyed me.

?I fetched up a good sized stone and waited for her to crouch over the trap, knowing she would be quite still for several seconds, then I let fly. My aim was true, but she flinched. Perhaps she heard me as I threw, but in any case it just grazed the right side of her head. She cried out and spun around, then froze as she saw me.

?She smiled. Laughed, actually. ?You?re tougher than I thought,? she said, ?now get back to work.?

?I walked towards her and her expression narrowed. She must have seen my intent. I?ll give her credit: she didn?t back down, but charged at me instead. The water slowed her, but as I struck out she shifted and threw her shoulder into me, forcing me to fall backwards as she scrambled up the bank. I reached out and caught her by her tunic, pulling myself up towards her. She lashed out with her foot and connected with my collar bone, and I felt it crack. My left arm went numb. She kicked again, aiming for my throat, but I grabbed her foot and slipped it to one side, and she slid down a bit. Her other foot caught my hip, and she shoved me back down the bank.

?Regaining her feet, she ran for the trees. I recovered and set after her. It wasn?t too hard, as she only had a couple of steps on me, and I was taller. I tackled her just inside the trees. She hit hard and I felt her breath escape in a rush as she curled up in pain, her arms encircling her midsection, and she was still struggling as I forced her on to her back with my good hand and straddled her chest. Her eyes met mine, and for the first time I could remember, I saw fear in her.

?My left arm was still numb, but I laid my left palm across her throat. She was trapped beneath me, my knees pinning her arms to the ground. My right hand settled on a rock, and seized it up as she finally drew a breath.

?Wait?? was all she managed to say before I brought the rock down on her head.?

Zsallia stopped talking. She was kneading the palms of her hands, and staring down at the river. I started to talk, but she just shook her head and gave me a quiet gesture with her hand. No, she seemed to say without words. I?m not done. Her voice when she spoke again was still dull, and flat.

?The rock?. it made a sound. A solid, sickening ?thok!? Then a high, thin squeal came out of her, like a whispered scream. But that stopped as I struck her again. And again. And again. And again??

She stopped again, drawing a deep, ragged breath that whistled as she exhaled. Her eyes were moist, but otherwise dead as she stared at the water.

?I would hit her? and her body would jerk underneath me, like spasms, or convulsions? there were pieces of bone? and so much blood?? she paused and her eyes turned towards me, almost pleading. But before I could react she shook herself, turned back to look out across the river, and went on.

?I kept hitting her until I felt all the breath go out of her, then I stopped, staring down at the bloody ruin of her face and head. I was fascinated by what I had done. I?d never simply killed anyone before. I?d seen death countless times, killed once in self-defense in a way that was almost a blur. But this?

?I was trembling as I crawled off her, my left arm and shoulder on fire, my right weak from exertion. I knelt by her body, my arms clutched together across my breasts as I shook and rocked, my belly churning with revulsion. She would twitch, a movement of an arm or a leg, and I would stop and stare, unsure if I could make myself strike her again should she resume breathing. But finally, I knew it was over.?

Zsallia was still not looking at me. Almost like she was afraid to. She just hugged her knees and rocked a little. I couldn?t think what to say or do, so I just waited again until she went on.

?I reached out and laid? laid my hand on the swelling of her belly. She had always had others, the women and the men, touch her like that, but she had never permitted me. I rested my right hand on it, and I felt it move.

?It was if my heart stopped and turned to ash in my chest.

?I wanted to scream then, but I could not breathe, I could not move. I held my hand there, feeling Saennuz?s baby move less and less until, inevitably, it stopped.

?A tiny, precious piece of myself died there, under those trees, by that riverside.?

The light breeze whispered in my ears as we sat. I listened to it, and the gurgle and rush of the river, she staring at the water, me staring at her. Unmoving. Finally she sighed again.

?So then I did the only thing I could think to do: I dragged her back to the river and pushed her body in, forcing it out into the swift current. I followed it downstream a ways to make sure it didn?t come ashore or fetch up on anything. After that, I washed up as best I could and returned to the village. I told them Saennuz and I had fought and she slipped in the water. That she?d struck her head and been swept away.?

She stopped again, still refusing to meet my eyes. I watched her, trying to gauge what she was feeling, but her face was like stone. I had no idea what to say. Could you try someone for a murder three thousand years ago, in a country that probably didn?t exist anymore? What kind of verdict could you bring to that? What court could judge it? What jury would know what to do with it?

?So they believed you?? I finally asked.

?Of course they did. By then I was an excellent liar. For that matter, how much of a lie was it, really??

?She was pregnant.?

?Yes. The baby would have come in the late fall?? she turned her face away, craning her neck so I couldn?t see, and seemed to shrink in on herself. Then her shoulders shook, just once. ?It probably would have died over the winter anyhow. At least that?s what I told myself.?

I found my voice. ?She tried to kill you,? I offered.

?I could have walked away. I could have gone down river and found a new home. There were people a few days away that knew me from the clan gatherings. I could have told them what happened.? She turned and looked at me finally. Her eyes were hollow, and whatever tears might have been there were gone. ?I didn?t have to kill her. I wish I hadn?t.?

?You feel guilty? Even today??

?Of course I do. I don?t lie awake at night agonizing over it, but??

?What did they do to you??

?To me? Nothing. At least, not right away. But it was not long after that that I learned?.? She stopped. ?I learned?? She stopped again. ?I?d like to stop talking for a bit if you don?t mind,? she finally said, staring at the water. So we just sat and listened to the stream for a while.

Then she asked me to take her back to her hotel.

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1964

My only thought is to somehow ease you from the grip of this death spiral that defines you. There are but two things capable of touching your darkly secreted soul and you continue to hold the first at bay. I could seduce you with ease, but I fear to introduce yet another complication. All that remains is music. The three of you have not played together since I joined your group, but the introduction of the new guitar rekindles interest and soon music is again a real presence in this dingy flat.

The band forms almost naturally, a development I did not foresee. It makes sense now, a way to release the massive reservoir of anger and pain, that horrible angst you could never express as anything other than self-destruction, but at the time it seemed little more than a lark, a distraction from the goals I hoped to achieve? for all of you.

Truly Dalene, it is for all three of you, but you are first amongst them. I may have held Aiko and Nefertiri in lesser regard as I began this madness, but they are not to be lightly dismissed. You love them for a reason and it becomes clearer with every passing day. Those inclined to worship Fate or the Providence of the Divine would see those powers at work in your meeting, but I understand better than most: you are much like me in some ways, for you draw others to you as they see there is more than what meets the eye.

Your anger fuels the muse, and its grip is tight upon us. We play to small crowds with instruments scavenged from any source we can find. People are amused, disgusted, or merely indifferent, but it is unimportant- the need to express what lies within is overpowering. I am so very accustomed to steering those who stray into my sphere I am astounded to realize this is nothing of me and all of you. You play your guitar and I feel your pain- I give it a voice, words you would never allow yourself to speak, words appalling to those many that prefer to view the world through a veil of civilized indifference. It is amusing for they view me as the unstable and violent one while all believe you are the calm center of our angry coterie.

We cannot escape our reality- Jacques demands we attend the duties he assigns us, but he is first and foremost a man of commerce and he sees opportunity in our performances. Our first real show, with decent instruments and a stage and an audience, comes at his behest in a back room performance at a club he owns. We perform topless, a twist lending a certain surreal flavour given the tales your music tells, and the night ends with us plying our given trade; yet it matters not a bit, for we have the taste of it now. We had them in our hands, even if only for a moment.

The more we play the more animated you become? and then comes the first of three fateful events.

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Dalene

?It?s an electric guitar,? I said, blinking at her as innocently as I could manage.

Dalene smirked at me, ?I know what it is. Where?d you get it??

?Last night. You know how musicians are- always horny, always broke. I made a trade.?

It was mostly the truth, though I had laid out cash for the amplifier, dipping into my reserves to make it all come together. Dalene turned the case and opened it, then looked at me with a question in her eyes.

?What??

?This is a pretty nice guitar,? she said, ?and it?s left handed.? She drew the Fender Stratocaster from its case, ?You didn?t steal it??

?Ham would have my head if I got caught, you know that.?

Aiko walked in and just stopped, staring at Dalene and me.

?Holy shit, where?d you steal that??

I looked daggers at her and she stuck out her tongue at me, then we both broke down in giggles as Dalene plugged the guitar into the amp and hit the power. It took a minute for it to warm up and she touched the strings lightly, her fingers barely in contact with them as they hummed in high, clear tones that warbled, then steadied as she twisted the machine heads with practiced precision.

It was like the whole world just vanished for her- Dalene shut out everything and concentrated on the instrument in her hands. She plucked at it: weak, discordant sounds bleeding from the amplifier until she reached for a knob on the amp and twisted it to the right. It didn?t get louder- it just started to howl, and after that it was almost hypnotic, watching her long fingers dance along the neck of the guitar as it sang in high, moaning notes that blended into harmonies almost too high pitched to hear before crashing down into low, dirty tones that grabbed us by our bellies and shook our bones.

By then Neff was watching, and Aiko looked at her, the two of them grinning as Dalene?s fingers sailed up and down the register, coaxing agonized harmonies from her instrument until a sudden metallic whine scarred the sound and she clamped her fingers across the neck of the guitar.

?Needs new strings,? she said, then she looked at us, saw the expressions on our faces. ?What??

She stared at us for a moment, perplexed, then grinned.

?I?ve been playing since I was five, you know??
Her voice trailed off as she looked down at the guitar in her hands and I watched all the joy drain from her as she closed into herself again. She yanked the cord out of the guitar and dropped it back into its case, staring at it for a minute before she slammed the case shut.

When she looked at me again she was the gaunt, wounded, joyless girl of the past months once more. She thanked me, but there was so much pain in her voice I had to believe I had made a terrible mistake. Neff and Aiko saw her shaking, but neither of them would approach her, instead just standing there as if to recognize her suffering would somehow shatter their world. In a way it was the honest truth: Dalene was the center of everything for them, she was the strong one? and she was slowly unraveling before their eyes.

I reached for her, just laying my hand on her shoulder, feeling her tense under the touch. She fixed her gaze on the floor, taking slow, deep breaths as her face flushed with the effort of burying her pain, but I moved closer, settling to my knees beside her, drawing her head to my shoulder. She was stiff, tried to resist the simple physical contact I offered, but something inside her yielded just a bit and she let me cradle her as we sat in an awkward silence, Neff and Aiko both frozen nearly as thoroughly as Dalene.

?My father?? she whispered, then she stopped, choking on the words before starting again. ?My father bought me a guitar just like this? just a few months before he? before he threw me out of the house.?

It was not what she said, but the way she said it- there was a pause there, something she was desperate to say, but could not force herself to put into words. I looked up at Neff for she had known Dalene the longest and she stared at me wide-eyed for a moment before ever so minutely moving her head from side to side-Don?t do it.

Aiko?s eyes were nearly pleading with me to just let this go as we had so many times before? but I knew what that would mean, and if I gave in to their fear yet again I might as well slip away and leave the three of them to their chosen fates. I nearly did just that, once again overwhelmingly aware of my own arrogance in thinking I had the right to intervene; to judge Dalene, and Aiko, and Neff, and decide they had to have choices made for them. By me.

Dalene would be dead within a year, either from the drugs or from the brutal reality of the life she lived. Since my coming to this place there had been three prostitutes murdered, and those were just the ones the police would admit to. There were more, of that I was certain. When Dalene was gone what would her friends do? How far behind her would they be? Aiko was already dabbling in Dalene?s heroin habit and Neff? Nefirtiri was wasting away be sheer force of will, refusing to eat for long stretches until Dalene could coax her into it again.

All of this ran through my mind for the hundredth or thousandth time as I clasped the shaking nineteen-year-old girl to me and finally chose for her, for all of them.

?There?s a lot more to that story, isn?t there?? I whispered, ?What really happened??

She went rigid in my arms, not even breathing as I felt her heart begin pounding so hard it was as if her whole body was being struck by the repeated blows of some infernal hammer. She tried to pull away, but I held her tight.

?What did he do to you? What happened when he found out you were a lesbian??

She drew a deep shuddering breath and this time I let her sit up straight. She stared into my eyes, not even looking at her friends, just completely focused upon me, seeking something in there. I opened up every non-verbal cue I possessed, asking her to trust me, to let this out. There was utter silence in the room; the entire outside world had melted away so that the universe was nothing more than that small space and the four people inside it.

?He said there weren?t going to be any dykes in his family? He said? he made me pack a suitcase and he drove me to New York, to Albany.?

?He left you in Albany?? Neff asked, and I quietly raised my hand, gesturing for her to keep quiet. Dalene hesitated, looking now at her two friends, uncertainty in her eyes. I shook her gently, just once, and her gaze snapped back to me.

?What happened in Albany??

?Daddy? he knew a young man there, a guy who?d done contracting work for our family when we had a summer place up in the Catskills. I guess he?d called ahead because when we got there he already had a Justice of the Peace waiting. The wedding was over before I even really knew what was happening.

?Daddy tossed my bag in Doug?s pickup and told him he knew he could straighten me right out. Then my new husband dragged me out to his cabin in the middle of nowhere and spent the next two months raping me two, three, sometimes four times a day.?

I heard the sharp intake of breath from both Aiko and Neff- neither of them had known of this. Despite the squalor of their current lives, what Dalene described was something beyond horrific. She was sixteen, her husband was twenty-five and he patiently explained to her that this was her life now, that he wanted a big family and he had promised her father that he would take good care of her. He was not violent, at least not overtly, but he kept her on a very short leash, confining her to his rustic home for three months before finally taking her into town.

?I finally got pregnant,? she whispered, her voice straining to escape her throat as tears began to flow, ?and he wanted me to have a good doctor. I?d been pretty docile, just biding my time, and when we realized I was pregnant he got all gooey about it, like this meant I?d finally come around? at the doctor?s office they sent me into the ladies room to pee in a cup, and I went out the window. Second floor? dropped into a dumpster, then ran like hell.?

She had no money, no idea where she was, but she found the bus station and managed to beg bus fare from two women, telling them she was a runaway, but was going back home. At the station in New York City she hopped the first bus she could find and landed in New Orleans.

?That?s how I met Jacques? I needed an abortion and he offered to help me out. And then??

She just waved her hand over her head as if to say ?and here we are now?. Neff and Aiko drew close, the spell that had held them rooted to their places finally releasing them, and the four of us held each other there on the floor.

I finally understood her. I finally realized that I could indeed help her, help all of them? if they would let me.

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Ham

?You look like hell,? she said, but there was a very real note of concern in her voice. I looked up at her, staring into those corn flower eyes sunk within their dark sockets, and I offered her a wan smile.

?You should talk.?

Just a week ago she would have made some cutting remark and stalked off, perhaps to find another needle, but today she just grinned and shook her head.

?That was pretty stupid, getting in that guy?s face like that, ?specially with Black Eye hangin? around.?

It had been a long night, and we were just heading back to our flat when a carload of drunken teenagers pulled up. We ignored them, but they became angry and one of them got out of the car and actually grabbed Dalene by the arm. She was going to give in, but I could see the hot anger she bit back and without hesitation I slipped my switch blade from my belt and stepped up, stomping down the boy?s shin with my four inch heel. He howled and his friends boiled out of the car, but then he was on his knees and I had the knife hard against the side of his neck.

?We?re done fucking for the night, asshole!?

Before he could react Johnnie ?Black Eye? Gillie stepped in and gave one of the other kids a hard fist in the gut, folding him over.

?You punks get the hell outta here, NOW!?

Black Eye was one of Jacques? largest, ugliest, and least intelligent ?doormen? and nobody could match him at being loud and menacing. The kids practically threw their two friends into the back seat of the car which was already rolling as they all piled in. Five seconds later all that remained was the sound of squealing tires as they rounded the corner.

And then all I saw were stars, pavement and blood.

?Stupid cunt!? Black Eye roared, punctuating that last with a savage kick to my ribs that lifted me into the air and dumped me onto my back. He said more, but I couldn?t hear it through the ringing in my ears. He let fly again as I curled around the pain in my chest, driving his pointed toe into the small of my back. After that I do not remember anything until I awoke in the apartment and found her sitting by the couch where I lay.

?Hey! Still with me??

Her voice shook me from the memory of the previous night and I focused on her again. Her concern was now writ deep upon her face and I realized things might have been more drastic than I recalled.

?Still awake,? I mumbled, and then I tried to sit up. The pain in my side was not so terrible, but my back convulsed into a scalding knot of agony, forcing me to bite back a cry. Then I felt her hands on me, easing me down onto my side again. I finally took in my surroundings; saw the blood-stains on the couch and the pillows. Black Eye Gillie had done a pretty thorough job, from all appearances. Once everything fell into place I realized I was ravenous.

?I?ll be okay,? I whispered as she touched my face. ?I?m hungry.?

She turned her gaze and I realized both Neff and Aiko were standing in the doorway between the kitchenette and the large room that formed the remainder of our flat.

?Maybe some soup?? She asked.

Neff shook her head, her bright green eyes staring out from her finely chiseled coal-black face.

?Not until she stops throwing up. Nothing but water.?

I watched her talk, the way her full lips worked to reveal flashes of dazzling white teeth almost mesmerizing to behold.

?Water? water?s fine. I?m thirsty. I won?t throw up anymore? I promise.?

The water was good on my throat, but my stomach was growling loudly and I could feel myself fading out again. I had not been eating very well the past several weeks and now all the injuries sapped my strength. I was in no danger, but how could I convince them?

I heard the word hospital and forced myself to stay awake, lifting my head again.

?No!? I shouted, trying to be forceful, but sounding more desperate than anything else. They ignored me, Aiko suggesting the landlord might be willing to take me in for little favor or two.

There was a firm knock at the door, just two raps, and then the door opened framing a broad shouldered man with no neck whose bald scalp gleamed as if it had been polished to mirror brightness. Thick arms hung from his shoulders, seemingly relaxed yet at the same time poised to strike out at the least provocation; his hands permanently curled into fists the size of melons. None of us knew his real name; we all just called him Ham.

?It?s after four,? he said in a voice that was always surprisingly calm and pleasant no matter how many times you heard it, ?Jacques wants to know where you are? Damn, girl, what the hell happened to you??

Ham was deceptively quick for a man of his size and suddenly he was standing over me and I swear I may have seen a brief flash of anger cross his face. He was not a man quick to rage; unlike Black Eye Ham did not seem to take any pleasure in hurting people. It was strictly business with him; he did what Jacques told him to do and his personal feelings did not enter into the equation. When Jacques wanted somebody beaten up he sent Black Eye Gillie. When somebody was in real trouble, he sent Ham.

?Somebody roughs you up, you?re supposed to let us know,? he said, his voice a quiet sigh, ?Who did this??

?Gillie,? Aiko said before I could even answer. He looked at Neff and she nodded, then he returned his gaze to me. His only visible reaction was to slowly open his right hand, cracking his knuckles, and then close it again. When next they met it would not be a good time for Johnnie Black Eye Gillie.

?Fine. Angie stays, the rest of you get your butts out there.?

?Ham,? Dalene objected, ?just an hour ago she was still throwing up blood. We can?t leave her alone.?

?I?ll be okay,? I protested, but Ham cut me off.

?You three go. I?ll stay for a bit and make sure she doesn?t go dying on us. Now move it.?

That last was delivered as gently as anything he ever said, but it was emphatic nonetheless. All three looked at me and I just nodded as they gathered their things, and then they were gone. Ham closed the door and went to the fridge where he found a bottle of Budweiser and popped off the cap with his thumb, then returned to the room and settled down into a creaking easy chair barely sufficient to hold his muscular bulk.

He sipped at his beer, his eyes locked on me, unblinking. There was no menace there, just a feeling he was trying to make sense of something.

?Gillie told me you pulled a knife on a guy so he slapped you around. That true??

?The knife? Yeah. Slapped around? I think he was too kind to himself.?

?Yeah, I?ll be talking to him about that. No point in damaging the merchandise? no offense.?

?Why are you here, Ham?? I asked because it was clear to me he had something on his mind.

?That?s just what I was going to ask you. Your friends? I know why they?re here. Nefertiri?s family tried to kill her, some weird African thing about family honor. Aiko?s plain lost- been on the streets since she was twelve. And Day, she just hates life and everything in it. But you? I don?t know why you?re here. You?re not broken, you?re not desperate and I don?t think you ever do anything you don?t choose to. So, why are you here Angie? What are you doing??

I watched his eyes as he spoke, gauging just how serious he was. Was he thinking I was dangerous, or was he just curious? It seemed to be a little of both and in a situation like that nothing serves quite so well as a smidgen of truth.

?Dalene. Dalene is why I?m here.?

Ham took another sip from his beer, but his eyes never left me and he remained silent for an uncomfortably long time. Finally, he nodded.

?She?s a screaming dyke, and I know you?re not, so why??

?Some people deserve to be saved. When I met her I knew she was one of those people, I knew I couldn?t just walk away and leave her here to die.?

I had not intended to say that, but as the words passed my lips I knew I was telling him the absolute truth: something about her, about the way she and Neff and Aiko clung to each other had driven me to do something I had never done, not in more than three thousand years: I chose to act, to deliberately intervene and attempt to change someone?s life for the better. It was such an arrogant thing to do, even more so than taking the life of a monster. Killing is easy; it is living that is hard.

Perhaps Ham discerned some of the thoughts coursing through me at that moment because he simply nodded at me and said, ?You?ve got one hell of a job ahead of you.?

?I know,? I replied. ?I?m hungry- Neff wouldn?t let me eat anything.?

?Hungry? What, I?m your cook now??

?If you?ll help me up??

?Naw, stay there,? he said, standing as he drained his beer, then set it on the table next to the chair. ?I know a place you can get some real Gumbo, not the crap they serve on Bourbon Street. I?ll have one of the girls bring it up. Just don?t choke on it and die or Jacques will have my head for losing one of his top girls.?

?Thanks, Ham. You?re a prince.?

?Don?t let it get around, okay??

?Tell Black Eye I said hello,? I called after him as he closed the door. I heard him laughing as he went down the stairs.

Be my bride
Let them scoff and cry
Be my bride
This world?s too sick and I?m too tired
We play these parts, scream and weep
Deny our souls, seek the free ride
But you are mine, I am yours
Just ask, take my hand
Be brave, we?ll make our stand
Be my bride
Let them cry
Be my bride
Watch them die

Die For Love
Hera- 1964

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1963- Summer

You are dying, every day marking another long stride towards the grave. Neff and Aiko are terrified, but they cannot confront you for you have become the center of their world. The do not trust me, they cannot, for I am too new and too much an unknown. They resent me nearly as much as do you, an interloper in the closed little world the three of you have built.

Heroin is a relatively new scourge, but opium is quite familiar to me and I can see its handiwork all through you. I wonder- am I too late? But when I touch that thought, attempt to explore its meaning, I recoil from it. You are such a distraction to my soul and your self-destruction angers me, yet I cannot seem to reach you, cannot show you I care more than you suspect. I try to tell you and you rebuff me- how can I be so unequal to this task? What is wrong with me?

Weeks pass and summer arrives, the Gulf Coast attaining its mixture of sweltering heat and cool sea breezes. You seem happier, more engaged, and I see your friends, the ones who have loved you for a year that seems a century, clinging to the hope you will choose to crawl out of the darkness devouring you. But it is a transient thing, a cruel illusion shattered by another long and terrifying bout of abuse.

Scenes etched upon my memory:

Aiko forcing breath into your lungs, the three of us taking turns for more than an hour while you cannot breathe on your own, refusing to give up while we feel the thin tremble of a pulse in your neck?

Aiko and I dragging Neff from the clutches of some drunken maniac as you let fly with booted feet, pummeling the man into unconsciousness?

Jacques?s fury at finding you too high to step out, and the beating I took for standing up to him... and your disdain at my weakness for taking the beating meant for you.

A stolen car and manic dash to an emergency room, watching as you are shocked back to life not once, not twice, but three times?

I should give up on you, for I long ago learned not to stand in the path of those who would destroy themselves. I cannot do it. I cannot because they cannot: Neff, and Aiko will not surrender, will fight for you to the bitter end they know must come. If these two wounded souls can stand by you, how can I not?

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One Day In the Life..

?The most important thing?s to stick together. Ain?t nobody here for us girls but us.?

I nodded, nothing more, keeping up my facade of nervous anticipation. Neff and Aiko had paired off to work the far end of ?our? block while we took the north corner. Our pimp, Jacques, was a small-time player and his girls all worked a set of streets centered on a hotel he owned through his mother, the kind of place that rents rooms by the hour and charges an extra three dollars if you want clean sheets. It was just after noon and there were already cars cruising the block, looking us over.

She seemed steadier now. Back at the apartment I had watched as she slipped a needle into a vein in her left arm, that act followed by nearly half an hour of eye-fluttering incoherence as she lay trembling on the couch. Neff told me not to worry, that this was her way of making the day tolerable, but I could see she was hovering on the brink, her body only barely able to tolerate what she was doing to herself.

Part of me, the cold and rational being that made up the center of me, suggested I face reality and let her finish destroying herself. I had seen many such episodes in my life and why should this one be any different than the others? What made me sit by her wiping the spittle from her mouth when there were others in this place just like her who would be left to fend for themselves? As she settled down, her body becoming bonelessly relaxed I could see something, that very same vision I had had the day I first saw her- through the drug-induced haze there was a burning core of anger, the only thing that kept her moving through one day and into the next.

Now, out on the street, she was all in control. Numbed against the reality of her trade she could ply it wearing a facade of indifference and as a late model Chevrolet drew up beside us, its driver beckoning with one hand, she sauntered up to the passenger side and rested her hands on the door as she bent down to look the driver in the face.

?You lonely, baby??

I watched her haggle with the man, a middle aged fellow from Montana according to the license plate. He was experienced, that I could tell, and it was clear she understood this too, but after a few minutes she turned her head, looking over her shoulder at me.

?Both of us? Now that?s what I like, a man with a real appetite. Forty-five, and you pay for the room. Angie! Let?s go!?

Suddenly she was excited, the energy of that moment sweeping aside all other considerations as I strolled to the curb.

?Deux??

?Oui.?

He had a name, but what could it matter? We took him to the hotel, her pouring obscene incantations into his ear as I groped at his groin, massaging the growing bulge in his pants. She was a superb actress, swallowing her disgust, her outrage and her anger as she tumbled into bed with him, the two of us swarming the man, eager to bring this episode to an end as quickly as we could. For one hour we gave up ourselves to his desires, surrendering all we held precious for mere money. Such degradations rolled off me, too familiar to raise my ire as I chose to be there in that way for a purpose of my own. For her it was as another nail in her coffin, another irreplaceable piece of who she was chipped away and irrecoverable.

He tipped us, paying ninety dollars, enough to cover the nut for the night, but she insisted we return to the corner and so we strolled and strutted, dragging down one warped soul after another. Sometimes we were together, other times we worked it alone, but we followed up with each other, our concern for each other the only insurance we had against the stinking depravity of the life we led.

I had vowed never to whore again, yet I slipped so easily into the role that by the end of the night I nearly lost myself in it, feeling the old resentments such labor would sow within me. When she emerged from the back seat of yet another car she was smiling and laughing until it pulled away, then her cheeks hollowed as she worked her mouth and spat, trying to cleanse herself of the taste of it. She nearly told me to get back to work, but then her eyes softened, glistening with the barely contained agony roiling inside her and I saw her shake with it.

?You look like you?ve had enough,? she finally said, her face settling into her preferred scowl of disapproval. ?Let?s go crash.?

We turned in our latest earnings to the ?doorman? at the hotel, one of Jacques?s thugs, and then went looking for Neff and Aiko, finding the two of them loitering in the shadows of an alley. Aiko asked how I was and I gave her a wan smile, but my partner told her I was a disaster and lucky she had been with me or I might have earned a beating my first night out. The four of us wandered back to our rundown apartment, stepping over the drunks passed out in the doorways and halls until we closed the door behind us, shutting out the world as the sky turned grey with the coming dawn.

Pay for me
Have your way with me
Don?t dare think you mean anything to me
Now I got a hundred dollars all my own
So you can just fuck off and leave me alone

Impermeable Shield of Stupid
Hera- 1964

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1963

I saw you long before we met; you and your girlfriends on a street corner near the French Quarter, surrounded by a crowd. You were playing guitar while Neff and Aiko accompanied on the violin and viola. It was hauntingly beautiful, and so very sad, for as I approached it was clear despite this performance you had another occupation, one that was destroying you by degrees. You were beautiful even with the heavy makeup you used to cover the bruises on your face, even with the obvious needle tracks in your arms.

Another woman watching you perform was nearly in tears, and I asked her why she was crying. She told me it was such a waste, such talent being lost here in the abattoir of the New Orleans flesh pots. I agreed with her and I watched as the three of you played, the music floating from your instruments like the scent of roses caught upon a light summer breeze. It was sad, but beneath it there was anger, perhaps too subtle for others to perceive, but so clear to my senses. You were dying, being murdered, really, and you felt so powerless. Perhaps that was what the woman I spoke with understood- not that musical artists were being wasted as whores, but that they were being destroyed.

I watched for an hour, until a hard faced man arrived to take the money others had left in appreciation of your artistry and order you back to your ?real job? with gruff, Cajun obscenities. I saw the anger and the surrender in you.

I fell in love with you that very day, that very moment. I do not act rashly, yet I set aside everything I had planned, the course I expected my life to follow, and I returned to Boston to prepare.

Three weeks after that fateful Saturday in April, Jacques picked me up at a bus station in Mississippi and I played the part expected, allowing him to draw me into that dark realm where he imprisoned you. Three weeks after that, he dragged me into your flat, the one the three of you shared, and said you had another girl to look after. You were not terribly happy, and you snapped at me, demanding my name.

?Angevin,? I told you, pronouncing it in my best French accent: Ohn-sheh-veen.

?Fuck that,? you laughed, ?you?re Angie. Get used to it.?

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Not With a Bang, but a Whimper...

God hath chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise; and God hath chosen the weak things of the world to confound the things which are mighty. (First Corinthians, 1:27)

Ostia, circa 115 BCE

Dawn was more than an hour past as I made my way to the fish market?our brothel had its own kitchen and we could bring in quite a morning crowd, turning a decent profit from selling fish cakes and bread, let alone our other common wares. The morning was delightfully cool and there had been a rain during the night so the air was clean, delicious on the tongue. I actually felt a certain contentment; something so very rare these past years, so when I was interrupted it made me more predisposed to lash out. He was a young man who recognized me from a party some time ago, and I did try to politely put him off, but he was insistent and thus sealed his own fate.

I led him into an alleyway, to some empty stables for a quick dalliance and I took his life almost as an afterthought. As I did so I nearly felt? regret. He struggled on the ground, weakening by the second as he hissed and burbled. I had struck his own knife deep into his throat, cutting his voice box for good measure. I leaned back against the wall as he died, watching him silently.

It used to mean something more, killing these people. It had been a visceral joy the first time, and the second, and the third? better than sex, better than a full meal after weeks of starvation. Each death was an epiphany, an eruption of feeling. It was the closest thing I had to feeling true power, and that had fueled me for more than ten years, but now? Now it was almost habit rather than joy. All these men and women dead by my hand, and it seemed the only reason I kept on was to hold at bay the creeping suspicion that it was all meaningless.

As he faded I stepped away from the wall and settled to my knees beside him, laying my hand upon his cheek. His eyes glazed, the ruddy complexion of his face slowly darkening.

?It?s not your fault,? I whispered, ?it was just bad timing? sleep now and be done???

I made to clean my hands on his cloak; by now I had learned to kill a man with a knife without making too great a mess, but I had some blood on my hands. I also stripped him of his valuables to make his body look as if he had been robbed. It was a dangerous ploy, for I would be at risk while they were in my possession, but I would dump them in the river so no one would find them. I had no stomach these days for seeing common thieves put to death for my crimes.

I froze when I heard a quiet noise off to one side, turning just in time to spy movement behind a wooden box at the other end of the alleyway. I held still for a moment, just listening. I had known this place well and was certain it was empty this time of day. Clearly someone was near the back of the alley cul-de-sac. If it was more than one, I would have to pretend I had found this man waylaid. It would be a weak excuse, but it had been so many years since anyone had even questioned me I believed I could pull it off. But if it was just one, then perhaps I would have one more kill to crown this morning before returning to my more mundane tasks.

I rose to my feet and strode towards the box and there was an unmistakable intake of breath. It had the sound of a woman, or a boy.

?I know you?re there my friend,? I said. I was calm and welcoming. ?Please show yourself.?

Not a sound came and I sighed in resignation. What did this person hope to accomplish? I resolved to make it quick for I had lingered here long enough. A single corpse could be easily explained easily by simple robbery, but two would attract attention, and my last had been taken just four days previous.

I strode down the length of the alley and stepped around the box to find myself confronting a boy no more than ten years old, huddled in a servant?s entrance doorway. He was dirty the way only long months on the streets can make one dirty. He looked Greek, or perhaps even Ethiopian, with hair like black wool, dark olive skin, and brown eyes large and wide with terror. He was beautiful, quivering in the deep alcove leading to the door, his eyes darting from side to side before fixing on me.

?There?s nowhere for you to go,? I told him gently. I smiled broadly, welcomingly, like an aunt or sister, and stepped towards him. He bolted towards me, ducking as if to run underneath me, and I lunged downward to catch him. But suddenly he jumped up, leaping like a squirrel and actually bouncing off my shoulder, kicking at me as he ran. I turned and grabbed for his leg but his skin was slick with the sweat of fear and he slipped my grasp. I cursed myself for being so careless.

For a brief moment I thought to let him go. I stood there for a pair of heartbeats, watching him sprint to the end of the alleyway. It was still dark in the alley, and my cloak covered my head. He could not have seen my face clearly, and who would listen to a street urchin?s tales of a woman killing a man nearly twice her size?

But I became frantic. I had to have him. He had an good head start and people would be filling the streets soon, yet I sprinted down the alley, determined to find him anyway. As I left the alley I saw him a ways off, stopping to catch his breath. As he saw me he began to run again, directly toward the market. I walked quickly but calmly. I had to catch him. I would not let this little street rat bring me down.

I turned a corner and spotted him not ten paces away behind a crowd of women bartering with a large African basketseller. I pointed at the boy and yelled, ?Thief!? The merchant and women turned to stare as he jumped and sprinted away, dumping over a pile of baskets. The merchant swore and the women squawked as I shoved past them, tripping over the baskets and cursing. As more and more people filled the streets, I ran on, looking for any sign of the boy while others looked at me, idly curious but not otherwise paying much attention as I searched for anything out of the ordinary such as shouting, or swearing or?

Another angry merchant was collecting a pile of fruits that had tumbled into the street near a corner, cursing and looking over his shoulder to the east. I broke into a run, sprinting around the corner in the direction the merchant had been looking. Noting the zig-zagging direction the boy seemed to be taking, the memory of his scent came? rotted fish and oil. He must live near the docks. I zigzagged though the narrow streets and even narrower alleys, pausing now and again to look and listen.

I came to a square where three bakeries formed another small marketing spot and I stopped, something telling me to pause and look. I scanned the crowd and the corners of the buildings and a sudden motion caught my attention. I saw him staring at me, his face a study in shock as he peered around the corner of a stall selling baskets of yellow bread loaves. He bolted again, but I had his measure now and I sprinted down a parallel alley before turning to spy him across the way, headed the way I anticipated.

I have your number now you little vermin!

I bolted down a parallel street, threading through the growing crowd like a serpent through grass, heedless of the sometimes-indignant cries of those I passed. I had to get ahead of him before he reached the river, for he doubtless had people there who knew him and that would complicate matters. I broke into the cross street and turned east, expecting him to emerge from the alley at any moment? except that he did not. I reached the entrance to the alley and saw nothing, not him, nor any obvious place he might be hiding. I whirled about, looking west and caught the barest glimpse of a small form as it disappeared into another alleyway further down the street.

The insolent little mouse had doubled back upon me! With a growl in my throat I took after him again, able to run at a full gait along an empty side street. There would be no more attempting to finesse this. He had shown me how clever he was and I would not let him slip from my sight again.

I sprinted along the space between two buildings and out into another narrow street where I turned again towards the river mouth. I heard a shout ahead, some cursing, and I knew I was close. Suddenly, I burst into the docks area.

I saw him then, not too far ahead but running full out, the flash of the pale bottoms of his dirty bare feet almost a blur as he headed toward a ship? a boat that had just cast off its last moring, and was already beginning to push clear of the dock.

I sprinted after him, closing the distance rapidly, but as I ran a man stepped toward me as if to grab my arm. I spun as he reached for me, my cloak and part of my shift ripping away as I tore myself free. I continued running after the little wharf rat, thinking I would catch him in the river if I must. I was sure I could out swim him, and I was certain he could not possibly catch the boat.

But I was wrong. As he reached the end of the dock, perhaps only ten paces ahead of me, he gave a mighty yell and launched into the air, hands and feet flailing? and he caught in some thick netting hanging from the stern of the boat.

I skidded to a stop and fell just at the edge of the dock, sweating and panting, nearly falling into the water. Looking down I noticed that I was all but naked, my shift torn to shreds and my cloak long gone. I looked up to see two stout seamen pulling the boy into the back of the ship, staring at me as the rowers eased the vessel out into the mouth of the river, bound for the sea. The boy was saying something to the crewmen, and others were watching with great curiosity. The man who had grabbed my cloak came running up behind me and suddenly I was acutely aware of just how public, and just how dangerous a situation, I was in. I had to do something, say something, and a desperate thought for cover came to me.

I leapt to my feet and shook my fist at the boy as I screamed at the top of my lungs.

?The little shit didn?t pay!?

Silence fell over the docks for an instant, and then someone started laughing, first just a chuckle, but growing into a full-throated uproar of mirth. It spread to the others, shrieks of laughter coming even from the man who had my torn cloak in his hands. He was bent over, tears streaming down his face as he guffawed. On the boat I saw the men laughing and clapping the boy on the back, clearly amused and astounded by his supposed audacity, but he was not laughing himself. His eyes were fixed on me, still wide and terrified.

I locked my eyes on his, and then very deliberately broke into a smile. I raised my right hand high in salute, and after a moment he did the same. I could see him visibly relax. I then turned to the man holding the remnants of my cloak and snatched it from his hands.

?Tell me, where is that ship bound?? I asked him.

?Oh, they?re Egyptian, sweet doris. They won?t be making way back here for another few months. Maybe you can settle up then??

He was laughing at me as he said it, but I ignored him and stomped away, wrapping what was left of my garment about my hips, relieved to find I still had the pocket with my last victim?s belongings in my possession. I tried to calm myself, but I was shaken so badly that I had to find an alley where I could just stop and try to make sense of what I was feeling, of what had happened.

There was a sensation in me that I could not place my finger upon, and it touched me whenever I thought of that boy sailing away, escaping my grasp. It wasn?t until several minutes passed that I realized just what it was: I was happy.

I was glad he had escaped. I had not put my hands around his slender little neck, and I was relieved for him. It surprised me to realize this, and as I tried to understand it I felt myself going weak, my knees buckling, forcing me to sit.

The confusing happiness I felt turned to something bitter and terrifying. How could this failure render me more satisfied than all the murderous artistry of the past thirteen years? What did it mean that a child had bested me, and that I was relieved to have it so? In the years since Rufus died I had been in pursuit of something almost indefinable, and it had lain forever just beyond my grasp. I sought to feel powerful again, to assert mastery over others, but that quest seemed unending?and what had been such ultimate joy had become something I was afraid to stop.

In that moment I just stared at the wall opposite and it came to me. I finally knew the truth about myself. I was not a goddess. I had never truly been one and never would be one. As I tasted that thought I angrily rejected it, but it returned, refusing to be set so easily aside. I tried to hold it away, to make it leave my mind, but it returned, doubly insistent until I clapped my hands to my ears and crouched, singing softly to myself. But finally I was forced to look at it and accept what it meant.

All the hate, the fury, the death and mayhem sown by my hands: Worthless.

I remained in that alley for a very long time, alternately raging in frustration and weeping in resignation. But there was no escaping it. Rufus had been more right than he knew:

You can never be more than a frightening and murderous witch skulking in the shadows?

The final acceptance of this truth closed about my heart like chains of iron, cold and unyielding; anchoring me in the here and now as the world I thought I knew receded into nothingness.

I finally rose to my feet, looking out from the alley to the street and there were many people about as the day had begun in earnest, the docks and markets coming to life. I straightened my torn garments as best I could, stalling, somehow unwilling to walk amongst them, perhaps even afraid to do so. When I strode out into the crowd I wore a careful mask of carefree indifference, but as I moved amongst them, threading a path through the sounds, scents and feel of them I found myself more utterly alone than ever I had been.

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The Valley of the Shadow...

Rufus?s suicide and the open gloating of his wife and cousin had been bitter to endure, but that was merely the beginning. The next morning Vipsania had taunted me before the household, daring me to act, to prove I was divine and undo the acts she had set in motion; and I had been powerless, knowing in my black and burning heart that the Romans themselves had stolen my divinity from me?tearing me from my lands and the comfortable dominion I had enjoyed, burying me in the stinking swamp of their worthless and corrupt myths and beliefs. What place was this, amongst brick and stone and the poison of a city, for the Huntress?

Note: what follows may be disturbing and/or not safe for work

My ultimate humiliation had come after the death of my doomed love, after she showed me the cold and lifeless body of the old Greek who despised me yet had won my affection and respect. She told me Marieko cursed my name before he died.

?You should die as well,? she told me, ?Though Livius says I should deny Rufus the final honor of his dying wish, but I believe I will keep your pretty throat intact.?

?You would do well to heed the words of your husband-to-be,? I had snapped at her, seeking to goad her into action, ?lest he suspect you might have designs on yet another man.?

She laughed at me then, the sound made ever more cutting by the clear beauty of her voice.

?Oh, no, little one, Livius has no such concerns regarding me. He shall be Senator, and I shall have what I desire?a path to power for my sons. Our match is too perfect for either of us to risk it. No, I am free to do with you as I please. And I am mindful of my debt to you, for I am certain my late husband would never have been moved to such a bold plan had you not filled his head with silly notions of Destiny and Prophecy. And of course, I know the perfect solution? the perfect place for the likes of you.?

And so I finally came to the great city of Rome herself not as a victorious goddess, but in chains in the back of a slave cart to be sold as a whore. Sometime on the journey to that city, somewhere in the back of that cart, something inside me snapped and I was overcome with numbness. My rage and anguish still burned furiously hot, but somehow it became distant, muffled and far away. When I tried to reach out to embrace it, to feel it? there was nothing, just numbness, nothingness. It was as if I had been torn asunder and that part of me, the part that knew the taste of rage and fury and all other passions now sat apart, screaming in some dark secluded place separate from the rest of me.

By the time I was sold in the marketplace in Rome, specifically to a whoremaster at Vipsania?s orders, I had become disinterested in all that surrounded me. I watched my own actions with detachment as I did what was expected of a slave, a role I knew well and that came back to me without effort. In the coolly intellectual part of myself I knew this could not last, that this submission was more than odious. Yet that knowledge could not stir in me the urge to rebel against it. I submitted to every indignity, iron chains and a mark upon my hip. I could seem to take no action of my own volition.

My new master?s name was Pavlos. He was a freed slave who ran his patron?s brothels in Rome and Ostia, seeing that they turned a profit whilst never allowing his patron?s name to be too closely associated with them. He dragged me to the adiles to register me as a prostitute under the name Felicia, then set me immediately to work. He fancied himself a strong-willed man and a demanding master, but I had his measure in a day. In a way his pathetic nature eventually drove me to some action beyond listlessness. It became my plan to endure this place until I could leave Rome without worry of being pursued, and then make for my old lands. I kept a civil tongue when that bloviating fool spoke to me and I bided my time.

I turned out to be popular amongst his clients, at least those who preferred the company of women, for without any pretense to vanity I can say I was easily the most attractive of the girls there. I wore a mask of cheerful servitude that I had learned many centuries before?the instincts came almost automatically and while part of me recoiled in horror I could not find the energy to break out of it. Still, my cheerful demeanor endeared me to many clients so that my earnings were always good.

The House of Pavlos was decidedly not a high-end establishment. Pavlos was a terrible manager, and a worse master?he beat girls who failed to perform to his satisfaction, that in itself no unusual thing, but he lacked the good sense to avoid bruising their faces. Of the sanitary conditions, the less said the better.

Seeing that Pavlos somehow had to be turned I made certain to pay special attention to him, for his suspicious and brutal nature stood in opposition to my half-hearted thoughts of escape. It never occurred to me to simply dispose of him, such was my subdued condition, but he proved ridiculously easy to manipulate, as did all those around me, and within a few weeks I had him convinced I loved him and could not stand to be without his touch. It suited his ego and certainly amused the other whores, but once I had him firmly in hand I was able to effect changes in the house, making subtle suggestions that come morning he would swear were his own thoughts.

It began as simply having the ten girls and four young men spend an hour or two every morning just cleaning rather than standing out on the street trying to attract customers, who seldom visited during those hours anyway. We began keeping clean cubicles and making more use of the laundry Pavlos?s patron maintained. Pavlos complained bitterly of the cost, but soon the combination of a clean house, well-groomed whores and fresh bedding did have the predictable result: business increased and our prices rose accordingly. From there it slowly became my responsibility to discipline the bad performers and see to it the establishment gathered in the monies Pavlos demanded. In order to do this I was forced to endure more than one beating at his hands, but such were of small consequence, and once the changes had taken place the weekly tallies were easily met, then well exceeded.

Some ten weeks after arriving in Rome I found myself in charge in all but name and I ran the brothel with an efficient if sunny brutality, gathering in more control as Pavlos became happily preoccupied with counting his patron?s money and skimming profits for himself. I disposed of the older and less comely whores, dipping in to the brothel?s accounts to purchase new slaves, youthful and attractive and at least less diseased than their predecessors. I set my own medical knowledge to the task of keeping them as healthy as was reasonably possible. There were now thirty girls and seventeen boys and our establishment began to gain more respectable clients as word spread through the subura that ours was an entertaining place to spend one?s free time. Profits increased even more as I raised our prices and hired boys to escort some of the prettier girls out during the day to drum up business, and I often went myself, since I remained better looking than all of what passed for beauty in this place.

All in all, perhaps four months? effort on my part, just to reach a point where I could be out upon the streets without Pavlos to keep me in check. Once that was accomplished I set my sight on being shut of the place, to buy my freedom so I would not have to flee and risk being caught and in even worse circumstances? but something still held me in check.

It served a purpose, all of this activity on my part. I cared not one whit for those whom my actions gave benefit, not Pavlos?s pocketbook or the young men and women whose lives were still miserable, but certainly less so now. It all helped me to avoid looking back upon that tiny, scintillating spark that dwelt within me, yet so far from me I could not even feel its warmth. At night my dreams were fevered and I would awaken sometimes with my heart racing, my breast filled with panic and hate, but it would fade so swiftly into the numbing grey that cocooned my thoughts and my life. I would almost look forward to those nightmares because for one brief instant I would actually feel something, anything other than the cold and passionless plodding of the days as they passed. I confess the numbness at times was so bad that alone in bed at night I would occasionally cut myself with a knife, just to feel something, but even that pain was usually so dull and distant it brought almost no reaction. One night in frustration I thrust the knife through my left hand completely. But even that brought only a brief surfeit from the numbness that enveloped me, the pain a thing I could feel only as a phantom, removed from me, unreal. By the next day of course the wound was gone. I took at least some comfort in the fact that at least this visible manifestation of my strange nature had not abandoned me, even if it frustrated: I could not even truly hurt myself.

We had begun hiring out to banquets and other festivities, sending a dozen or more to act as servants and entertainment for the assorted guests. I usually took part in these for I was in fairly high demand amongst our regular patrons. Pavlos preferred that I go because it spared him the need to see that everyone returned the following along with whatever accoutrements they might have taken with them. I would send everyone on their way, remaining behind to ensure nothing and no one had been forgotten, and then I would make my way back on my own. I told myself that I would one day use just such a day to take my leave of Pavlos and Rome, but I never truly acted on this, not even so far as to scout the ways out of the city.

I was returning from just such an engagement, this having kept me at our customer?s dwelling well past midday, when I encountered the man who led me to feel something again. He was a taller man, and older, perhaps forty, and I spied him walking with some five others of similar bearing, headed to some purpose. I noticed him because his eyes locked onto me with recognition, and then he made some excuse to his companions and parted from them. Not one of them even chanced to glance in my direction.

I recognized him, of course. He had been in Rufus?s villa in Arretium for a day during my first year there, but his name escaped me. He did not offer it when he spoke to me, but simply asked if I were indeed the Felicia from that house and I told him that I was. He enquired as to my current circumstance and I was truthful regarding that as well, though I made no mention of my odd status within the brothel. We chatted in as amiable a fashion as was appropriate as he accompanied me on my way, and I maintained a friendly flirtatiousness with him, but inside I was deeply annoyed?he brought up memories of those closing days and of my humiliation.

But the annoyance lit a small spark, and I began to blow gently upon it as we reached the alley that would take me into the heart of the subura, what in modern America would be called the Red Light district. I thought to part with him there, but then he noted in a very matter-of-fact way that he had always fancied me.

?Well of course you do,? I replied, smiling, ?you have excellent taste, after all. If you come to the House of Pavlos tonight I can promise you??

?Oh, no, that wouldn?t do,? he protested, ?I shall be on my way soon, with much to do. I was thinking we might just try one of these.?

He walked to one of the stalls forming the entrance to the alleyway and tried the door, which was surprisingly not even fastened shut. He smiled charmingly and seemed to like me. I smiled in return. He looked around and no one was about so he ushered me inside. The stall was really the back of a workshop, perhaps where a mule was kept, though it seemed unused as he peered out front and pronounced the place unoccupied. We haggled briefly on a price, since this was obviously not the most accommodating place, then I stripped off my garment, a robe somewhat more modest than my usual raiment, and I spread it on the ground, reclining upon it as he worked open his own clothes.

He descended on me in full heat, but I was accustomed to such treatment and bore his rough penetration without complaint, relaxing to accept him even as I made quite sounds of encouragement. I danced on my back underneath him for a bit but he seemed intent on taking as full advantage as he could, first urging me onto all fours that he might mount me from behind, then laying back and having me straddle him.

It was strictly utilitarian from my point. My purpose was to bring him to climax quickly, but one had to be sure to play to the male ego, so my face was a mask of pleasure and excitement while quiet sighs of passion passed my lips. All the while I was growing angrier and more impatient. I hated him for recognizing me, for being a part of a past that had robbed me of so much, for his easy acceptance of the circumstance that led me to be here on this day and in this manner, and for taking advantage. In another place, under other circumstance I would have killed him for far less than what he inflicted upon me now. I would have killed him just for being Roman, and the visceral thought of that sent a thrill through the core of me, like some deep well of fire had been tapped and was seeking release. The anger fueled it such that my pelvis now ground against his with renewed purpose as I imagined taking this fool?s life in the most gruesome fashion even as he urged me to greater effort, his body straining upwards beneath me as his finish approached.

I looked upon his face, seeing him straining close-eyed, his hands firm like clamps upon my hips as he held me tight against him, and it burst through me as a storm?not orgasm, but screaming rage so hot it burned through all thought and caution. He shuddered as his own pathetic pleasure took him and I struck him, first my right arm driving the knuckles of my balled fist in to his exposed throat and then my left, feeling his windpipe fracture as he jerked beneath me, his body now rigid and trembling, his spine arched as his climax poured forth.

He began to thrash, his hands suddenly as fists, lashing out at me, but I held him imprisoned beneath me and batted aside his flailing arms, his body already so spent in this furious copulation there was little left for his final, defiant spasms, and as his face darkened and his motions became but trembling, it swept though me: a pleasure so sweet, so utterly delicious in its source and flavor I could hardly believe it could be real but for the convulsions of physical joy rippling through my flesh. I was so very alive!

It subsided slowly as I held myself atop him, unwilling to so much as move unless it should bring this joyous convulsion of pleasure and hate to a sudden end, but it could not last and as my heart slowed and the furnace of my rage banked and cooled I felt tears in my eyes, so desperate I was to hold onto that delicious pleasure, that white hot feeling. When it was gone I sprang up to my feet in sudden revulsion, standing over the corpse, stifling my sobs of anguish as the dead and icy vault of numb resignation returned to claim me. I kicked the body, trying to reclaim the savage glee I had felt as I struck him and crushed his throat, but it fled from me, returning to that far away place I could not reach, that I could barely look upon.

All of it, the pleasure, the fiery joy of it, the delicious sensation of such total arousal, left me trembling and confused, but I quickly realized I had a very real problem on my hands. In all our thrashing about on the floor my robe had been kicked aside so I fetched it up, donning it swiftly as I moved towards the door, peering out between the cracks to look on the street beyond. Traffic was normal, nearly all on foot, but this end of the alley had no open shops so people were not venturing in this direction. I found a bit of cloth hanging from a post and used it to wrap up my hair so that its color would be less obvious, then watched the ebb and flow of the crowds. When I judged the moment right I swiftly slipped out the door and began walking away from the alley. I would circle around and approach the subura from the opposite direction.

As I made good my escape I felt a cold certainty within my heart: I knew what was needed now. Escape would not serve, not until I had recaptured that part of me these Romans had stolen.

As time passed the memory of that killing became more muddied, and I began to doubt I had experienced those things. It was the deadness inside me, the numbing lack of anything that deceived me, pushing away that fleeting moment of absolute feral ecstasy. Still, there was that searing spark, buried so deeply in me, so very hot and painful yet so far away?that far away part of me watched, and waited.

It was more than a month before I took another life. My second victim was barely a man, just seventeen. Drunk on wine and so very full of his own needs he accosted me as I sought to join others from my House on a job just off the Aventine Hill. I let him draw me in to an alley before the fury awoke within me and I slipped his grasp, twisting to one side as my left arm caught him by the neck, pulling him off his balance. My grip tightened and he made a noise, a quiet, desperate gasp as his throat was closed and I continued to twist, leaning back as he fell forward, turning his head until I felt the sudden cracking of bones and he went limp. I let him slide to the ground, dragging his corpse to the wall and dropping him there, then moving on down the alley and out onto the street again, walking as if I had not a care in the world even as my blood sang with the fire of this newfound delight.

It was so easy to do because I hated them so. I hated their pretensions to civilization, their fascination with blood sport, their arrogant assumption of superiority. The very soul of their culture was warped and diseased and I had allowed it to infect me, to deceive me into believing that I could become a part of it, could rule over it. Then I had watched it destroy the man I loved and bring all my hopes?hopes I had never dared allow myself before they gave them to me?to ruination.

So it became a game, truly a sport for me, taking my trophies in dark alleys or even in the most public of places, each death restoring to me just one more shred of that which had been lost at the hands of this vile race.

I grew bolder as I realized they were unable to recognize what was happening, treating my acts as individual events. A family would send hired men to hunt down the killer of their loved one, only to fall upon some hapless thief who stumbled on the body and stripped it of anything of value. I would hear the uproar and go to the square where some magistrate would condemn the fool to death and then watch with glee as the Romans did my killing for me. If anything those deaths were sweetest of all.

There was a hunger, a ferocious need within me that could only find satisfaction in wanton slaughter. I once took an entire household, poisoning the wine they had purchased for a son?s wedding, then watched in astounded glee as the fury of the neighborhood turned on a cousin who had some petty squabble with the family, ending in his suicide. It was as if they could not help but step into my bloody grasp, helpless to resist, even eager to feed my rage.

The butcher?s bill grew longer, years passing as I struggled to reach that point, so tantalizingly close, yet always just beyond my grasp, where I could call myself satisfied and whole once more. My ferocious appetite began to leak out around the edges of the carefully cheerful persona I affected, frightening my master, Pavlos, such that he shipped me off to Ostia. There I found even better game amongst the transient merchants and sailors who regularly flooded that port city. For who noticed another dead sailor apparently waylaid by muggers?

I lived for nothing but the kill. More than a decade passed, a savage, bloodstained collection of years where my vicious sport left a trail of death and heartbreak in two cities and even across the sea, and though I came close to being discovered once or twice, I always managed to outwit the fool Romans. Yet it never seemed enough, and my determination to see it done, to complete this tapestry of murder and vengeance, began to overtake the fury that drove me, the pleasure of each act falling prey to the desperate hope that this one would put paid to the debt I sought to collect.

How many lives would it take to quell the hunger within me? After some time, I ceased to even ask the question.

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Whom the Gods Would Destroy...

Arretium, circa 128 BCE

Death, when it comes, rarely arrives with a knock at the door, waiting politely while one prepares oneself. This is a lesson I had learned long before, yet still the following events struck me with a force beyond any I had experienced in many centuries.

Two days before it came, Salia was playing in the library while I read. Her childish musings were no distraction to me; indeed, they were almost calming. Sometimes this place was simply too quiet for my liking?a thought that would have seemed passing strange not so long before. In a way her presence there was also an act of defiance, for Marieko had forbidden her to speak to me. This naturally rendered me irresistible to her, but I respected her grandfather?s wishes as best I could, feeling that I outraged the old man sufficiently as it was.

I was reading Euripides that morning, finishing up what Rufus had of his writings with Troiades. It struck me that Euripides seemed certain the gods were much like mortals: so petty, so childish. It made little sense to me. In my domain I had most certainly punished those who slighted me, but mortals with the good sense to run away seldom had much to fear from me. Indeed, the more I read of the doings of the gods of the Greeks and Romans, the less kinship I felt with them, extending even to my counterpart Diana.

It was while ruminating on these things that a phrase caught my attention, something Salia whispered as she toyed with a rag doll on the floor near my feet.

?No she?s not a tricker, you?re a tricker. You should be nice to her?she?s so lonely.?

My head snapped about and I stared at her down on the floor. She looked up at me, then looked to her side and made a shushing gesture.

In a calm and friendly voice I asked her, ?Who are you talking to, little one??

?Nobody,? she replied, looking up at me wide-eyed.

I smiled at her. ?Ah, it sounded like you were talking to somebody. Perhaps you were talking to your doll??

?Dolls don?t talk,? she said in a very matter-of-fact tone, ?they?re just dolls.?

?That?s true, but tell me, does anyone talk to you? Anyone? special? Perhaps someone who only talks to you??

She tried not to smile, but her face gave her away, then she giggled. It took no small amount of will for me to maintain my calm demeanor, for inside I was roiling.

?I?m not supposed to say,? she told me, ?but you already know??

?Yes, Salia, I do know. What is your friend?s name??

?It?s a secret. He won?t tell me.?

Even as she spoke I knew the truth of it and began to calm myself. With a few more questions I confirmed it: an imaginary friend. Lonely children often created those and, though I had never been a child, I recognized the phenomenon well. I found myself uncomfortably remembering my past, from the time before I became a goddess, memories I had pushed away but which came suddenly to the fore. I remembered times when I had cared for children? and remembered seeing people be very cruel to children who imagined friends, accusing them of consorting with demons. I knew it was merely harmless play.

Yet that knowledge could not completely erase the flash of trepidation I had felt, for I had thought for one brief, terrifying moment that my nemesis, Loghaz, had found the path to place his voice in this child?s ear.

Loghaz: the trickster, demon whisperer of lies and fear. Not since the day that voice had driven me back into the arms of the man I had hated, then feared and now loved, had he deigned to speak to me again. Indeed neither Loghaz nor any other of the familiar voices of the gods ever came to me. It was as if leaving my lands had stripped them from me.

An unbidden thought startled me: Or perhaps we were never more than a lonely dream? It was as a whisper from some secret place, yet I knew it to be merely my own words, and that realization chilled me such that I shivered in my seat.

I gazed again at the tome I held. Now the tale of Cassandra and Hecuba and the gods held no lure for me. I had felt for some time something was amiss and this sudden remembrance had focused my mind and fixed my heart upon it. The gods of the Romans might be powerful and hold sway over these people, but they were not my kin. They did not speak to me.

If that were the case, if these unfamiliar feelings of doubt were indeed simple and undeniable truth, then what of Rufus? What of his certainty that my divinity would guide his plans to fruition? This revelation was sudden and crushing, all the more so for having built within me these many weeks as I partook of the fountain of knowledge given me by the written word. Rufus, so confident, so certain?

Whom the gods would destroy they first make proud.

One old Greek had taught me the meaning of written words. Now the written words of another old Greek taught me the meaning of doubt: doubts I had long suppressed, doubts I had never even considered.

I sent Salia on her way, and then set out to find Marieko. I had questions for the old man, and I hoped to find him in a talkative mood.

?A question? You? The wise and immortal Felicitas, O child of Jupiter and Priestess of Diana, you seek to ask me a question?? He cast his eyes skyward and grimaced. ?What great power have I so wronged that he sets you on my doorstep again!??

?Please,? I whispered, ?old teacher? this is not a moment for your ranting against me. You have knowledge and I have fears. My questions may be your very own.?

He stopped then, and regarded me with narrowing eyes. I had never used either of those words with him before, neither ?please? nor ?teacher?, and hearing them from me clearly gave him pause.

?Well, speak your questions quickly then,? he said, ?for I am busy. Rufus?s wife is coming to visit you know.?

This caught me up short. ?His wife?? I asked. Rufus had gone to Rome twice without me to attend to business matters with his wife, but he had assured me she meant nothing to him and that she would never come here.

?Yes indeed,? Marieko continued to speak while my mind wrestled with several conflicting emotions and ideas at once. ?An advance courier arrived not an hour ago to say she would be arriving no later than sunset with important business matters for Rufus. We will of course need to sort out what to do with you while she?s here.?

?What do you mean, ?do with me??? I asked, a flush of anger and jealousy injecting itself into my confusion as my mind caught up with his words.

?Come now, barbarian, you?ve been carrying on as this man?s mistress, shamefully above your station, and now his rightful wife is?.?

?Enough, Marieko!? Rufus?s voice barked from down the tiled hallway. He was striding toward us purposefully, a moderately manic look marring his normally cool and controlled features. As he approached he gave the old Greek a withering glare, then stopped and gently took my elbow. ?Felicitas, please come, we must speak privately.?

I locked my knees and glared at him. ?Oh we must speak, must we?? I said. Sudden anger drove all my earlier thoughts and concerns away. ?And of what must we speak that the old man must not hear??

A look of anger whipped across his countenance, and then suddenly turned?for a breath?to a flash of fear that he quickly put under control. Then he laughed jovially.

?Ah, my Felicitas. You are so lovely when you are like this. Come with me and we shall talk.? As he chuckled, he tugged at me, and I reluctantly allowed him to draw me away. Fury warred with what I had to admit was petty jealousy as he guided me to the privacy of our shared bedroom, quickly shutting the door against other ears.

?My lovely Felicia?? he began. I merely glared at him. ?A complication has arisen in our plans.?

?Your plans,? I said coolly.

His look became cold. ?Our plans,? he said firmly. ?We have spoken of this. You know that a Roman wife does not begrudge her husband casual dalliances but that I must still honor the contract with Vipsania until such time as I can divorce her.?

My eyes narrowed. ?Yes??

?Would it make sense for either of you to meet, then??

?You wish to hide me. In shame.?

?My darling no, of course not,? he said, sounding a little rushed. ?But again please, my dear? have I ever begrudged you anything you requested?my sweet lovely goddess?? He said it with that gentle purring noise that usually made my knees a little weak.

?Perhaps, but??

?And surely one so wise as yourself would not wish to be forced into the same room with this other woman?the woman your man does not love? Would you be so cruel as to torment her so??

I stopped. I had been so jealous I had not even thought of that. I cared not a jot for her discomfort, but what of my own? ?So you are not ashamed of me,? I said, my voice betraying a bit of an edge, ?yet you wish to send me from our home.?

?My darling?? he said, embracing me, cooing in my ear, nuzzling and kissing my neck between his words. ?Never, never?. But would it not be beneath your dignity? to have to play? Vipsania?s petty jealousy games? Would it not be?. Perhaps better?. To take a shopping trip to the sea for a few days? perhaps with a few of the? household servants???

He always was able to make me shiver with delight and forget my cares. By the time we were done making love, I almost believed it was my idea to leave the villa that very day.

Still feeling a bit confused between my doubts about Rufus? plans, my anger, and my jealousy, I made to leave for a few days with a three of the household servants?two girls, and a boy to drive the cart?in tow.

They were loading up the cart in the stable behind the villa, packing some belongings and goods for our stay as we prepared to take our leave when a commotion broke out by the front gate. As I had agreed that a confrontation with Rufus?s wife would be a pointless exercise I urged the girls to finish and ordered the boy to take us away. Yet as he whipped the horses into motion and we began to trot away, I suddenly grabbed his shoulder and demanded that he stop.

Some two hundred paces from the villa, we halted. Motioning the slaves to hold still, I found myself walking quickly away from them, traveling back down the alleyway to the villa, then slipping surreptitiously around the side of the house to spy the front entranceway.

Rufus?s wife was a striking woman. Tall for a woman, with a mane of dark hair gathered about her ears with barrettes, with a proud nose buttressing blazing black eyes that glowed with power?not unlike Rufus?s very own eyes, I found myself thinking. She waited with her retinue some 20 paces from the front entrance, expecting her husband to greet her. In that moment I knew I hated her, and wanted to kill her: who was she to claim my Rufus?s affections?

Within a few breaths Rufus came through the front entrance, walking with his regal and arrogant way, to greet her. As he grasped her hands, I turned away, and ran back along the side of the house and into the alleyway, at once both repulsed and understanding: surely he must greet her cordially now, and yet I wished he would set her aside this very moment. Yet it would make no sense to confront her here and now, would it? So I sped down the alleyway, knowing now that there was no good purpose to my being there. I returned to the other slaves in the cart. We sped away to the west, towards the coast.

We planned to spend a few days at a local inn, observing the sea and spending Rufus? money shopping for trinkets and whatever exotic goods might be brought in by merchants from Africa and other lands. We would stay until Rufus sent for us, but the next morning, before we had a chance to do almost anything, a boy from the household arrived at the inn. He was a good boy, one of Rufus? favorites, and he showed up at my door in the inn looking a little flustered.

?My apologies for awaking you, mistress, but I have a message from our master,? he said.

I opened the scroll. On it were written words that made my heart drop to my toes:

My darling, I have made a terrible blunder. Our plans together are come to naught. When last I visited Vipsania, too much wine and a loose tongue made me speak foolishly, and now I am undone. All is lost. I have told you many times that you might take your freedom any time you wished, and now I say to you: take it. By the time you read this, I shall likely have perished. Take what wealth you have garnered from me, including the slaves if you wish, and depart back to Gaul. Run with all speed my darling?all our plans our come to naught.
---R

It was marked with his seal. The boy just stared at me as I looked up from the scroll into his face.

?No,? I said to myself. ?No!? I screamed at the boy. As he cowered away, I slapped him in the face. Then I quickly turned back into the room in the inn, gathered up a few of my belongings, including my favorite knife, and strode out into the courtyard and on to the stables where I demanded a riding horse, much to the consternation of the stable hands. There was some difficulty, but Rufus?s money smoothed the way and in short order I was galloping east to Arretium, to him. It was most of a day?s ride back, and I ignored everyone who might chance across my path as I made my way.

It was early evening when the exhausted gelding trotted me back down the alleyway toward our villa?Rufus? villa. Slipping quietly off the horse?s back, my knife secured in my belt, I made toward the back-corner window?Marieko?s chambers. Pulling back the shutters, I was stunned at the scene I saw. Marieko?s grandson and granddaughter lay by his straw-stuffed wooden bed. As I pulled myself through the carved stone window, hefting my legs over the opening and setting my feet upon the tiled floor, Marieko?s grandchildren stared at me.

Marieko? the old Greek lay in his bed, his pallor grey, his body unmoving.

?You!? his grandson said, hoarsely. Little Salia ran into a corner and hid her eyes, clutching her doll. ?You!? he said a little louder.

?Tell me what has happened here young man,? I said evenly. Yet my eyes already told the tale. In Marieko?s hand was a cup containing the remnants of a crimson liquid. It appeared that he had drunk poison, and died in the arms of all that was left of his family.

?He died because of you!? the young man suddenly screamed, charging toward me with his arms flailing. I struck him in the belly just under the ribs and he folded over, falling to his knees as he gasped for air.

I realized that I must find my Rufus now, at this very instant, and charged to the bedroom door, unlatching it and flinging it open. Two armed men who had obviously been guarding the door and heard the commotion inside confronted me. With a shrieked curse I lashed out with one foot, striking the one on the left in the knee as I seized my knife, lunging low at the other and raking the blade along his arm as he reached for me. He cursed, but his stout arms encircled me, lifting me from my feet as I twisted in his grasp. Other men came running, attracted by the shouting and I kicked another hard in the groin before they overwhelmed me, forcing me to the ground. They rained kicks and punches upon me as I shrieked and struggled. Soon the clutch of them had stripped me of all my belongings and even my clothes, pummeling me with their fists until I was silent and then dragging me to the room Rufus and I had shared, bellowing at me to be silent as they made fast my limbs with iron shackles.

?No,? I heard myself sobbing. ?No, no, you cannot do this to us?.?

They left me alone in a room, bound hand and foot like a criminal, unable to stand or even move in more than the smallest way. As I sat there shaking, my limbs screaming to reach out and kill all of these Roman bastards, I realized I was alone in the bedroom that Rufus and I had made our own, and that I could do nothing but await what might come.

After what seemed an eternity two stout Roman soldiers came in and siezed me by my arms, hoisting me to my feet and then, half-carrying me, forced me to hobble out into the main Atrium of our house?. of our home together? of?.

?of Rufus? villa in Arretium.

Rufus was there, on the high couch where he had often reclined while friends and political acquaintances sat on the couches strewn about at many a banquet. Suddenly I was afraid for him more than for me. How could all of this, which had seemed so obviously right and proper and inevitable, have gone so terribly wrong? I had thought we had the world at our fingertips. I had thought that this was the answer, the reason I had been so tortured for so long. I had thought this was the final ending of centuries of fear and loneliness and pain.

Rufus just stared at me as they dragged me in and threw my on the ground at the foot of his couch.

?Oh my Felicitas? my Tiwazō? how could I have led us both so far astray??

His wife was standing at his left, looking down her haughty nose at me as she said, ?This? This is the barbarian strumpet you preferred over me?? Her voice dripped with disgust.

From his right, a fey, slender middle-aged man said, ?Oh really now Rufus, this filth is what you thought to conquer me with?? I suddenly realized that this must be Livius.

As I stared at my lovely, beautiful Rufus, I was horrified to realize both his wrists were slashed with angry red welts across them and along his forearm; laid open, palm out, both of his arms slowly bleeding into cups held by servant boys. The cups already overflowed onto the tiled floor.

Naked, my hands and feet bound with chains, on my knees, I could only look helplessly into his beautiful, beautiful face?which I had never seen so dark.

?Rufus, you always were a stupid fool,? said Vipsania.

?Honestly, Rufus, had I known you were such a fool I would never have taken your efforts to poison my name so seriously,? Livius added, simpering as he laughed.

Rufus? eyes seized my own?pleading, apologizing. ?Felicitas, you should have fled?. I stand accused of slander and of fomenting rebellion. If I do not destroy myself, my entire family?s estate will be forfeit? and I realize now that this was all my folly.? He glared accusingly at Vipsania, and I suddenly realized: likely he had told her just enough that she was able to betray him. I looked at the woman and felt sick inside. Rufus was going to die, and that bitch he called a wife was positively ecstatic behind her glowering visage. I could not let this happen.

?I am to blame for this!? I suddenly yelled. ?No, please, it was my plot! Please, you cannot blame him!?

Vipsania and Livius merely smirked as Rufus shook his head.

Rufus looked at me and said, ?No, no, my darling one, you seek to save me but you did no wrong? I will have no one blame you?. I love you? there is nothing in this world that matters more to me. Not my life or the life of any other man or woman, slave or free?nothing do I hold above you!? Livius and Vipsania both made disgusted noises at that, and he looked defiantly at them before focusing on me again. ?Nothing means more, not my life, nor the Gods??

?Gods?? I laughed, ?Oh, I am certain that there is much laughter amongst the Gods this day! ?Look at that fool mortal, Rufus! Stumbled on a whore in the woods and thought he?d made a Goddess his slave!??

?Do not take this upon yourself!? he pleaded.

?Enough!? Vipsania screeched, ?Are we all to stand and listen to this nonsense? Bind her mouth!?

Strong hands seized me again and a rag was thrust into my mouth. Prostrate and helpless I pleaded with my eyes as my beloved launched in to his final oration, declaring that his own life was far too compromised to continue, that his acts, though taken with the good and security of the Senate and the People of Rome always first and foremost in mind, had led him to believe that his innocence might be questioned and his honor impugned. That to make good on his failings, and to preserve the honor of his family he would take his own life, protesting to the end that he was innocent of charges of Treason and Tyranny.

A low moan erupted from the family slaves and the handful of Rufus? friends who had come to bear witness as he finished his oration. Then he settled back onto his couch and took a cup of wine, using both hands now that his arms were so crippled. For perhaps the next hour, he ate and drank wine, his life oozing from the wounds he had inflicted as a result of our madness. Muted by my gag I pleaded with my eyes, but he would not look upon me. His gaze always avoided the naked girl bound and gagged at his feet. I would sometimes try to gain my knees, but one of his retainers would always force me down, grinding my face in the spreading pool of his blood. Though he refused to allow them to blame me, clearly they all felt me guilty.

As he grew weaker, his speech slurring, he finally looked upon me again. Though he could no longer muster the strength or will to move, he made his voice heard clearly.

?Unbind her mouth,? he finally whispered, ?and bring her to me.? Vipsania protested, but no one listened, and the gag was finally removed. I crawled up to him, and took his hand in mine.

?Behold our handiwork? are you Diana, or perhaps Discord? what would you say to me now as my end approaches??

?Forgive me,? I wept, ?I should have known with what wisdom might be mine, I should have seen??

?Forgive?? he whispered, his hand reaching out clumsily to grasp my shoulder and draw me close, ?There is nothing to forgive? I know whose folly this is? fear not?Vipsania is a calculating woman, but she?ll not begrudge me my dying decree? you are not to be harmed?.? Drawing a deep breath he said it loudly, ?She is not to be harmed??

Then his hand slid from my shoulder as his head slacked backwards. Though my wrists were still bound together as I sat shamed at his feet, a sudden wild thought came upon me. As his eyes began to glaze over, I took my left wrist to my mouth, bound as it was in chains, and bit into it hard, feeling pain and a sudden gush of blood, and I thrust it to his lips screaming, ?Drink my darling, drink of my blood and live forever with me!?

With his last breath his eyes looked upon mine. Then he turned to drink from the blood that flowed from my hand?. and with a long sigh he died before my eyes, my blood flowing across his teeth, over his lips, and down his face.

I wept over him, ?I love you? we should have been as gods together? we could have been? we should have been?.?

After that I remember nothing but the cold, distant laughter of Vipsania as the guards dragged me away.

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Arretium, continued

And so I found myself that next morning on a sun-drenched stone patio engaged in light verbal sparring with an old Greek, envying him his family and the joy they gave him. Once Marieko sent Salia on her way he turned his gaze fully upon me and his displeasure was clear. I tried to imagine his reaction when Rufus handed him the task of teaching me to read and write, for I felt certain it must have been an interesting moment. He seemed fond of Rufus, but at the same time he held him in a sort of disdain, somewhat as if he were a father looking upon a son who simply had not turned out so well as he had hoped. I was even more amused when I came to understand that Rufus?s chief failing in his eyes was simply that he was Roman rather than Greek.

If he had somewhat conflicting emotions regarding Rufus, he had no such confusion regarding me: I was a barbarian, and a dangerous barbarian to boot. He never truly forgave me that episode in the hunting camp when I tried to strangle him, and he never turned his back on me again. In an odd way I found that rather endearing, for it was the one thing that had made sense to me in the midst of all the new and confusing ideas I had faced here among the Romans. It also added to my amusement at how sourly he accepted his task, becoming even more curt and dismissive than ever before.

There we were: him disgusted and disdainful, me amused and yet hiding my nervousness that I might not be able to understand this magic.

?For the love of all that is proper in this world,? he finally barked at me, ?stop lounging like an idle whore and sit up straight!?

It was an inauspicious beginning.

He thrust a red wax tablet and stylus at me then pulled up a wooden stool and sat stiffly upon it, holding a tablet of his own. I sat up with the tablet in my left hand and the stylus clutched uncertainly in my right, while Marieko sat across from me glowering unhappily.

?Repeat after me: Alpha...? He would draw the shape and show me. ?Beta...? He would draw it and show me again. ?Gamma... Delta...?

I slowly began to repeat the words, one after the other.

?Nefas,? he said whenever I got it wrong?which was often at first. So I would stumble and repeat, feeling almost like a child, but unwilling to end the game. ?Fas,? was all he said whenever I got the word correct. I think his frown may have actually deepened whenever that happened.

?Now, write the letters out.?

I tried. He would show me one shape, demand that I name it, and then that I draw it as he had drawn it. When I had first learned the Seafarer tongue-- called Greek by these people-- only the women had known what symbols meant; however, today it was considered ill form to teach a woman these things. Still, I slowly wrote out the letters, taking care to put every slash and dot in the correct spot.

The first morning was hardly promising. It ended somewhere around ?theta,? which I drew poorly. He had slammed his own tablet down, muttered something about barbarian women, and stomped away. I was too relieved to be angry myself.

Yet the next morning he and I both returned. And the next. And the next. Soon I could make all the shapes and name them, and we began creating groupings of them in order to form words. Soon, he began doing so in both Greek and the Roman tongue.

Other than repeating the sounds for me, he rarely said much. ?Nefas. Iterum Attemptabis.? I would try, again and again each new task, usually finally earning at least one grudging ?Fas? before ending a day?s lesson.

?In lingua Barbarae iterum,? he would command after I finished some string of Greek words. His estimation of the Romans was not much higher than it was of me. I doubt I ever saw him happy about anything, save possibly the plays of Aeschylus.

For several weeks this was how it would progress, out there on Rufus? patio except on days when it rained. Marieko would teach and I would write, learning by rote without much true understanding. It was grueling on both of us and on occasion his irritation would get the better of him, sending him off growling about unwashed barbarians while he left me to copy some string of writing over and over again. Yet he always returned, and we would press ahead. Although he obviously hated this task at first, it became clear at some point that once he was started Marieko was far too stubborn to give up, even with a student as hopeless as me.

By then I would have been too embarrassed to quit, although I thought about it e