HUNTED

A Novel by Zoyia Trahan

Chapter One: Trapped
 Emilie stepped back from the cool gray edge of the cement steps which led down to where he

stood, staring. She lowered her gaze from his own, it had become instinctive by now, to avoid his eyes in

order to avoid the scrutiny of his stare. His stare, which seemed to scream one more year, though in truth,

her Father usually spoke little.

Emilie Frank was a sixteen year old girl, and she was terrified; though not terrified in the way

most sixteen year old girls were when they had been discovered sneaking to the set of keys for their front

doors. Frankly, Emilie wasn’t sure whether there were any sixteen year old girls who feared sneaking into

their own basement for a set of damned keys, but she did and she had cause to be afraid.

One more year, his eyes screamed at hers, one more year until your gaze matches my own.

Emilie’s childhood had been haunted by this fear, and for as long as she cared to recall, she had

been afraid of her Father, afraid of the cool gray cement steps which led down to her basement. She was

afraid, because she knew that he lived there, usually asleep in the fine velvet lined coffin which he had

purchased for himself, but sometimes quite awake…and something quite famished with hunger.

Emilie felt her heart begin to speed-and it was like the beating of a terrified bird’s wings against

the confines of it’s cage. She knew he could hear her heart beat and knew that he could smell her human

sweat as it began to run down the side of her round pale cheeks. She edged up the stairs, quietly, her eyes

locked on her Father’s feet. She had hoped he would be sleeping. She had hoped that she would’ve been

able to creep quietly enough to fetch the key to the bolted padlock which kept both the front and doors

locked at all times while he slept. She had hoped to escape today while eye slept. She even half-expected

that she would get away with it this time.

What she hadn’t been expecting was her Father’s statue-like from waiting for her at the bottom of

the stairs. But Emilie, being a quite intelligent girl, should have known better.

“You’re up quite early Emilie,” he stated-his voice cool, emotionless and thick with the scent of

his latest meal. Emilie could smell the stench of the dead bodies from where she stood and it made her

nauseas. Strange to think that one day, if Marsius had his way with her, that same smell which now

repulsed her would become inviting. She prayed it wouldn’t as much as she prayed that her seventeenth

birthday would find her far away from both her Father and this house, which had always seemed sad to her,

somehow, though she couldn’t quite place it.

 Emilie exhaled sharply, realizing that she hadn’t responded quick enough; realizing that she had

hesitated and that hesitating spelled dishonesty as clearly as any confession. Especially to her Father who

seemed to be able to smell a liar a mile off.

“ Did you really think you could simply waltz in here, take the key and leave?” her Father

drawled, a strange smile chancing the corner of his hallowed cheeks. The expression seemed ghastly on

him, as though smiling were unnatural and completely unbecoming of his character, which it was.

“ No, I suppose I hadn’t,” Emilie replied in a soft exhale, admitting her defeat. She only hoped that

her punishment might be less severe since she had come clean, but hopes were small things in a world

where your Father was a sadistic vampire who held the key to your escape beneath his own coffin.

“Now you know what the punishment is for disobeying your Father, Emilie. Are you prepared to

pay the price…again?” he added the last word with a sudden spat of anger and Emilie saw it flash across

his once cool demeanor like a wave of heat, her Father had become angry and there was no telling how

many days of her Father’s ‘punishment’ she would have to endure.

‘This is the price I have to pay for not thinking up a plan B,’ she thought to herself with a tang of

regret. How could she have been so stupid? How could she have thought this would be so easy?

“Yeah, I’m ready…Father, but just remember-there will come a day when you won’t be able to

control me any longer, when you’ll have to answer to me instead,” the words came out faster than she could

control, monitor or sift through them for the least offensive aspect of what she meant to say. She said what

she meant, and her Father’s anger quickly turned to fury as he bounded up the steps, with more speed then

any mortal man could ever hope to posses. Before Emilie could blink, let alone react, she was being hauled

up by the waist and brought down the cement steps, down to the cupboard where she would sit out the next

five days, chained to the wall-without food or hope of food, with only the sounds of her Father’s victims to

keep her company.

“You made me do this!” her Father bellowed. The force of the cry filled the dark hallowed

basement and Emilie cringed as the noise pierced her human ears.

She could see the small cupboard doors with their chained padlock which her Father had left open

for such occasion. She could see the doors being swung open, could see the dusty blood-splattered innards

of the cupboard where her Father had tortured many of his victims before her, and as she was thrown

inside, she could see fine traces of human hair and fingernails which had been left before her.
 “You made me do this,” her Father repeated, his voice lowered now into a gruff and terrible

murmur, which rang inside the pitch-black confines of the cupboard long after he had shut the doors and

locked them.

Emilie let out a sigh as she heard the padlock’s deafening click into a locked position. The chains

rattled as her Father pulled them to be sure they were in place.

This was the result of angering her Father, and Emilie had dealt with it for the past sixteen years as

bravely as she could. She had been planning her escapes since she was twelve and had begun to discover

that her Father meant to keep her here until her seventeenth birthday, when she would be turned into…

something like him. Emilie likened a fate like that to one worse than death, and she had been searching out

escape plans frugally ever since.

It wasn’t as though life here were too terrible, she often tried to remind herself. She was schooled

daily by her Father-who would pace the study room back and forth-quizzing her on every subject necessary

for her to live in the human world…though he wasn’t aware, himself, that he was doing any such thing.

Emilie knew everything there was to know about such subjects as mathematics, world geography, world

history, English, and was also well versed in Latin, French and Spanish. Emilie’s only fear was that she

would never be able to use this knowledge-that she would remain trapped within this windowless house

until she was, indeed, seventeen years old. And then there wouldn’t be any point to seeing the world….not

if she couldn’t see it by that glorious thing called ‘sunshine’.

Emilie sighed and hugged her arms about her frame. What she wouldn’t do to see a sunset, a

sunrise…she only prayed it was better than this abominable darkness she had been forced to endure her

entire life.

Emilie tucked her chin over her knees, at that moment, and began to think, for the millionth time,

about her Mother. Emilie had learned at an early age that inquiring after one’s Mother was punishable by

deadly glares usually accompanied by a heavy smack to the side of the head. And though her Father would

usually compensate for such cruelty later, usually with a plate full of raw meat or a goblet filled with what

she hoped was just wine, Emilie felt herself resenting him for his cruelty. After all, what child wouldn’t

wonder about their Mother.

“Jane Eyre did,” Emilie muttered to herself. She smiled then at the recollection of the only thing

she loved about the windowless manor she had been forced to endure all of her life. Books: hundreds and
hundreds of books. They were her Father’s ‘private study’, of course, and Emilie truly doubted that he

knew about the evenings she would crawl up into the dim-lit study and sift tenderly through each page,

each story filled with the tales of a million things she feared she would never experience. Books were the

only things keeping Emilie alive, the only thing which rendered her hope when all else seemed lost-books

and the anticipation of her first sunrise.

Chapter Two

“Geez, Ma-Don’t worry, alright? I’ll be fine!” Morgan smiled at his Mother who was standing

some two feet off and preparing for another ‘surprise attack’ on his cow licked hair which, despite all of

Morgan’s careful combing, continued to stand on end in just about every place on the left side of his head.

She was a squat woman, with a plain complexion and deeply fixed almond eyes, which seemed worn by

experience, like the swell of her hips or the stains on her off-white apron which she had always worn with

such matronly diligence.

 “I know you’ll be fine.” His Mother sighed and, in what was clearly a sign of defeat, threw her

soft worn palms against the side of her overlarge hips.

“You know me, I-I just worry.” She smiled, a soft maternal smile which Morgan had always loved

so well. Truth be told, his Mother was the only person he had known growing up that had seemed true and

frank; the other smiles he had known, mostly from the other children at school, had been filled with

mockery and contempt as if they were only there until Morgan turned the corner. Morgan knew his Mother

would be smiling that same soft, well-intentioned smile the rest of her natural life.

Life for Morgan darkened considerably when the edge of the porch he was sitting on one day;

while quite taken in by a rather stained copy of “Gulligans Island” collapsed beneath him. Morgan’s

Mother had wept bitterly and cursed the damned rotting planks and the bastard who had left her here.

Morgan would’ve been glad to let the entire incident go, though Morgan would never have mentioned this

to his Mother who seemed quite taken in by grief and regret at the time by the severity of their situation and

Morgan found himself quite obliged in reassuring his Mother.

“Maybe if I just cleaned this place up a bit, you know?”

“Mother, it’s not your fault, okay? You have to quit blaming yourself!” Morgan’s Mother would

sigh then and continue to move in agitated motions about the small, ill-formed and rotting rectangle of a

home they possessed. Since Morgan had turned seventeen, since the age “eighteen’ began to loom for him

in the not so distant future of ’adulthood’ and the dreams which accompanied such a state of being, Morgan

had begun to plan a way for himself and his Mother to escape the terrible abode, with it’s rotting sunken

porch and chipped porcelain sinks. Morgan couldn’t ever explain it to himself, all the other children in

town had grown up in similar homes, their Mother’s forced to endure similar homesteads, and yet…yet

Morgan felt somewhere deep within himself that his Mother should not have to endure it a moment longer.

And so, with all the childlike imagination that all children are wont to possess, Morgan had sought out the

school library for research on places where the porches didn’t sink with rot, and the floorboards upon which

one walked didn’t creak and groan.

In his World Geographic courses, Morgan had learned of far-off places, where blue white

mountains loomed in the distance-across patches of lush, green vegetation. Such places, in contrast to the

constant sweltering heat of the desert floor and barren landscape he was forced to endure, had taken on for

him a sort of ’sureality’ and Morgan sometimes found himself wondering if they would even still be there.
His textbooks were, after all, copyrighted in 1967 and it being the year 2009, Morgan knew a lot could

change in forty two years.

“A lot can change,” he had muttered to himself then, as he flipped through the aged, water-stained

pages of his textbooks. His belief had been affirmed by the rather aged leaflet he had found between the

pages of the book advertising “New York City: the place where dreams are realized”

“Come with me,” he had pleaded with his Mother, who usually took about six steps backwards

towards the faded yellow stove, crusted with rust and remnants of ruined meals.

“Oh, Morgan…you know how I get ’bout traveling….how about you just go on, make sure to

write your Mother!” Morgan had sighed, a deep and hopeless sigh, and he had continued preparations for

his apparently solitary journey into the world. He wished, more than he could ever admit, that his Mother

would come with him because he knew that his Mother deserved better….and he couldn’t bare to think of

her the way she was now, stained and aged like the corroded stove upon which she slaved, the faded tiles

upon which she scrubbed. Morgan had hoped, rather privately to himself, that he might be able to convince

her to come with him before he was leaving, but his attempts had been unsuccessful.

“Just pleas try and do something ‘bout that hair!” she had said, her thin lips stretching into a

hopeful smile. And so, taking his Mother into his arms for a final time, Morgan had kissed her neat lined

fore-head and bade her good-bye. He packed up the teal blue Ford truck that had been his eighteenth

birthday present and prayed that all the countless nights he had spent in perfect attentiveness to the once

deadened engine had paid off. He slid into the black felt interior and let out a long sigh as he moved the

silver key into the ignition slot. The engine sputtered, a sad exhausted sputter and Morgan felt his breath

catch somewhere in his throat.

“Please start, Please start!” And then, as suddenly as anything else in Morgan’s life, the engine

came to life in the form of a dull and audible pur. Morgan smiled, and clapped his hands together with

eager anticipation for the road ahead of him.

He had never left the town of Greensbury, Arkansas before this overheated blustering day in July,

but Morgan had all the anticipation and hope that any place would be better than this one.

And it wasn’t that Morgan hadn’t been happy here; he had shared many pleasant enough memories

with his Mother in their run-down country home and even his Father…well, when he had been younger

Morgan had heard that he used to drink less…Maybe he even had some of those happy memories tucked
away somewhere in the deeper recesses of his unconscious. And yet…Morgan felt it more than ever on

that day….that ceaseless, never-ending tug he felt from a world beyond this one. Sometimes he could

practically swear he heard the soft honking of taxi cabs as they sped through the crowded city streets, and

more and more often he had begun to have these dreams…dreams filled with strange faceless people who

beckoned him forward, through the city towards…Morgan looked up at the blurred thick windshield and

shook his head. It didn’t matter what his dreams were anymore, or even what they could mean. Morgan had

never put much stock in those sorts of things before anyways-Nonsense: His Father had called it, dark eyes

brooding beneath the bushy line of his brow. And Morgan had known that in his heart, and yet he knew his

purpose. And whether he would admit it aloud or not, his purpose had been found in the strange shifting

world of our dreams.

He shifted the car into gear, relishing the sweet clicking sound of the gears as they switched neatly,

purposefully into place as he backed his car out from the dusty parking space that he had played upon so

many countless afternoons as a child: He could still remember the sweet taste of the dust on the back of his

throat and the swell of the hot sun in the sky above him. He could also remember the strange dreamish

fancies he had experienced then-usually in the dead of the summer heat, when the bugs in the trees were

chattering noisily, and when the other children had abandoned their play alongside him-deeming it too hot

for even their child-like endurance to bear. He could remember the times when he had rolled in the heat

alone, searching out the tall weeds alongside his driveway for a cooler place to rest his throbbing skull. He

could even remember the things he had thought up then, laying beneath the sweeping branches of some

close-by tree: dreams, it seemed he had experienced in the dead of heat-about nymphish fairies who would

come when all were asleep to play tricks on the living.

He even fancied he could remember the wide white face of one fairy…who, with bright purplish

eyes and bright green hair, had sprinted from the lowest limb of the tree beneath which he had been resting

so that he could sit on his chest and dance, quite naked, in the cool shadows above. The childish fairy,

which had strangely been without wings, though Morgan couldn’t think of any other word to better phrase

for it, for it did seem to him a fairy of sorts-had spent the better half of most of that afternoon there, and

many others to come…sometimes, Morgan imagined he could hear the fairy boy singing merrily outside

the half-closed window in his room; where he would usually be lying, quite awake and wishing that he

could be anywhere, in any world but the one he was trapped in now: where his Mother had to fend for her
safety almost daily, it seemed, from his over-bearing stone-faced Father who did little to help Morgan’s

affections for him, save give him a kick here or there when he seemed to be “sitting too uselessly on the

floor”.

Morgan sighed as he took a final glance around him at the home he had lived in for all of his

eighteen years before he saw the image of his Mother’s back against the silhouette of white frames, at

which time-he pressed his foot against the newly refurbished gas-pedal and sped off down the street and

towards the highway before he had time to change his mind, let alone ask himself: just what the hell he

thought he was doing.

Chapter Three

Three, Two, One….Emilie let out a deep, sharp exhale and fixed her unusually keen glance all

about the dark, blood-stained cupboard. She could see through the darkness, the deep maroon splatters of

blood and waste-left behind by her Father’s victims. She covered her nose with her mouth as yet another

wave of nausea moved through her. She knew better than to relieve the urge to vomit in corridors this tight.

She might’ve asked her Father to be let out to use the restroom, for she had been left in the dark

abyss for some six and a half hours now and was growing exceedingly uncomfortable in the dark, cramped

confines of her prison cell. She had been attempting to control her breathing, to take relaxed and deep

breaths to avoid the panic which was growing within her like some over-filled water balloon threatening to

burst at the slightest provocation.

And, as if this wasn’t enough, she had heard the basement door thrown open and shut behind her

Father and had heard the half-stifled hysterical cries of a young boy somewhere within her Father’s lair.

She marveled at her Father’s cruelty and bit her lip with disgust as a tide of revulsion and anger continued

to burn deep within her. How could anybody be so cruel as to harm a child? She knew the answer, though

she dared not admit it to herself in that moment for its implications repulsed her more than her Father’s

cruelty itself. The younger and consequently purer a soul, the longer a vampire is able to sustain himself
without the need for blood. Emilie shook her head, in wild attempts of ridding herself of this information

before she spoke.

“Hey, boy…I’m not going to hurt you, I need your help though.” The cries subsided with gradual

reluctance and from where she sat in her prison, she could hear the boy sniffle and rise from where he had

been sitting. It never ceased to amaze Emilie just how well she could hear such sounds as the creaking of

mortal joints, the bend and flex of the materials as they were moved, the soft rustle of leaves somewhere in

the distance beyond her home….

“That is your vampiric nature,” her Father had informed her with a look of smug satisfaction

stretching through his thin grim smile.

“Being born only half so…you receive only half of what I have, of course, but once you turn

seventeen, my sweet, sweet dear, you shall know all that I know and experience all that I do.” He had

twisted her cheeks then in something which, she was sure, was supposed to affection but in all actuality

filled her with a mixture of both revulsion and dread.

She had no desire to expound on any of the powers she had been given, especially since those

same benefits she would receive to being a vampire were weighed heavily with the price she would have to

pay--Eternal life, for one, which however seemingly appealing-could get to be quite lonely, she’d imagined,

especially with somebody like her Father to share eternity with. And the other price…well, the blubbering

hysterical child was evidence enough for Emilie of the morals vampires held in respect with their own

blood-thirst.

“Listen,” she snapped finally through the cupboard door after the boy’s crying had quite subsided.

“I’m in this big cupboard here, and I need you to do something for me.” At these final words, she

pulled from the loose platinum waves of hair she bore, a single hairpin, which she had rescued off the floor

after a particularly gruesome struggle her Father had shared with a mortal teenage girl whom he had

dragged down the steps and proceeded to murder. Her Father, of course, had no idea that she had obtained

such a useful tool-nor did she think he even noticed it loose itself from the mortal girl’s hair. Her Father had

a tendency to become enraptured in his work when the occasion called for it, just as Emilie herself had a

tendency to reserve for herself certain necessary back-up plans. She was personally glad that there was

another person there to assist her, however, as the pin would’ve proven quite useless without him.
 “Are you a…monster?” She could hear the hesitancy in his step, the sweet sniffling of his child

nose as he continued to weep quietly. She thought on this a moment; a moment so swift in passing that the

child could discern no hesitancy in her answer, though the moment had passed all the same. She wondered

at the word ‘monster’, and if it should apply to her in any way. She was, after all, if reason should prevail in

any manner towards the question at hand, half a monster, since she was only a “half-breed”. But if she

were to remove this logic, and to consider the question all on it’s own: did she feel that she, herself, was a

monster in character or disposition? No, she couldn’t say that she did for she felt the term monster should

be reserved only for those creatures, like her Father, which took life happily and greedily and Emilie,

herself, did not.

“No, I am not a monster, I promise.” She shifted in the tight cupboard space, turning her head so

that she might make herself more clearly heard.

“Now, if you can just trust me-I might be able to get us out of here.” She could hear the slight

shuffle of hesitant steps as they moved towards her; a quiet succession of reluctantly dragged material and

bone and flesh as it made its way across the pale cement ground. It hadn’t occurred to Emilie until this

point that she was quite chilled, and that the entire basement seemed to emit from it’s surface this same,

strange chill. It wafted in drafts through the thin porous ground and thick slabs of concrete wall. She

shivered and wondered at the boy, who being a mere mortal, might feel the cold with more significance

than she.

“What do I have to do?” The voice was tiny and afraid and Emilie felt something deep within the

pit of her heart, something much akin to empathy for the young child who had been ripped with quite a deal

of unfairness from a completely ordinary and happy existence, such as it probably were.

“I’m going to slip this hair pin out from this little slip of space beneath the left cupboard door, do

you see it?” For emphasis, she rapped the bottom of the cupboard door near which she was positioned. She

heard the creak of mortal joints as the boy stooped to investigate her claim. Stiffly, though still with the

typical limber of all young mortal children, he rose and spoke near the place where he now figured she sat.

“I see it, what do you want me to do?” The boy’s voice was a moan, full of resistance and

helplessness and though Emilie wanted to feel something, anything but this empathy she felt for him, she

found that she could not. Feelings were dangerous things though, and Emilie knew better than to become
too connected with this child who might or might not become prey depending on the success of the

outcome of her planning.

“I’m going to slip a hair-pin out, and I need you to pick that lock.”

“I don’t’ know how to pick a lock!!!” The child groaned then and with helpless abandonment of all

hope, began to weep all over again.

“Shh!” she snapped in a hoarse whisper.

“You need to listen to me, you just unbend the thing and push it through the little hole where the

key would normally fit.” And without further ado, she pressed the pin down in the space between the

cupboard door and cupboard and with all the faith she could muster, released the fragile thing into the

world. It clanked with a defining ring against the concrete floor. She could hear the boy scuffle to pick it

up, could hear the hesitancy in his moans as he picked the lock carefully. Emilie wrapped her arms around

herself, still tighter and let out a long sigh. She then fixed her ears around her: concentrating in the way a

cat might when it is listening for the tell-tale warning shuffling of prey….or predator.

Emilie heard the pin move in the lock, could hear the intricate click click click of the inner world

of the strange mechanism. She heard the pin scrape aimlessly against the lock’s innards, for a moment,

before she heard , what seemed to her, a most definite click and then silence.

“Did I do it…?” the boy asked. Emilie could hear the quivering in his voice. She nodded in the

dark, before realizing that he couldn’t see her nodding and so she spoke.

“You’re just about there…pull the lock loose now and you’ll have it.” She listened as the lock

clicked open, as the lever scraped across the metal linked chains and then came crashing to the floor. She

winced as she pressed the cupboard door open-hesitantly, peering out into the dim landscape of her

basement. She could see the boy before her: he couldn’t have been more than eight years old, and aside

from being wet and filthy, he seemed to be healthy enough child…which was probably why he had been

selected.

“The more pure the soul, Emilie…the better the feed.” She could see her Father’s dark eyes

glittering in the corners of her memory as she attempted to smile at the boy. He wiped his blue eyes wearily

and sniffled.

“What do you say we try and get out of here, huh?” she asked. The child nodded weakly and as

though he had known her always, slipped his pudgy hand into her own. Emilie nodded, feeling quite
wordless at the moment, and then slowly, cautiously proceeded up the dark uneven steps which led to the

world above.

Chapter Four

Lord Marsius VonRuthers had never been what ladies would call ‘an attractive man’. When was alive

and well and working at the farthermost corner of some petty New England town; all cobblestones and the

churning of wooden wheels back in his day, Marsius led a predictably average life, in a predictably average

town and with a very predictable and average job. He was a blacksmith, to be precise, and he toiled all of

his days in the reasonably productive manner that all lower-class peasants were expected. He waited in line

for his meals, he paid for the things he brought home, and he spoke as little as he could possibly manage to

anyone, brave bold or strange enough to spark a conversation with him. He had known love, or had known

the quintessential sixteen year old version of love, had his heart broken by a few low-level commoners and

never really thought much of it all. It was the way things were supposed to be, or so he had always

reasoned.

Until one day, which began as any other day was expected to, might I add: with a gray overcast

sky; muddied with streaks of purple orange glow, cast from the sun which rose steadily and constantly as he

dressed himself before the half-opened window. The air was cool, damp and he could taste the moisture in

the air, could feel it saturating his clothes which he had taken pains in propping above the low earthly

rumbling fire in it’s respective place. He had shuffled about the clean wooden planks; relishing the

reasonable amount of warmth they provided for his cooled feet. He was tired still, but not unpleasantly.

Truth be told, Marsius had always loved rising early. It was a personal philosophy of his Father’s that rising

anytime after the sun had risen left one with a wasted, half-finished day. Marsius took comfort in small

philosophies of those nature; They were his lifeblood, his solace and reason in a world of bustling

strangeness and unpredictability. And so he dressed with the rising sun, dark eyes staring out at the vibrant

green pastures before him which lolled off in gentle sloping hills far out in the distance, farther than

Marsius ever bothered to look.

 Had it been any other day but this one, Marsius would’ve packed his meager lunch, a stale loaf of

bread and jerky and headed off for work. But today was different. He couldn’t seem to put his finger on

how, but staring out at those green slopes filled Marsius with a strange sense of solace he had seldom felt

before. Not since his Mother had been alive anyhow, and had brought him to her lap and had filled his

eager young mind with stories about other worlds, other kingdoms and peoples free of sickness, death, and

cruelty. Marsius had always listened to these tales with a particularly keen interest. For while his Father had

provided the solid boundaries of reasonable living and law; boundaries which Marsius had always revered

and respected, it was his Mother’s stories which filled his heart with hope. And hope, dear reader: is the

food of life for us all and any man denied it, no matter how much reason he may posses, will surely and

inevitably perish.

And so it was, with great hope in his heart and warmth in his bones that Marsius set out through

the rich green pastures. He set out bare-foot that morning, for the crisp wet grass relieved something in

himself which Marsius hadn’t been able to relieve for some time. He felt freedom in those lush green lands,

freedom from the constant monotonousness of his everyday life, freedom from the drafty one-room shack

he had lived in a solitary condition for the greater half of his life, freedom from all of those things which

we find ourselves surrounded by each day without the memory of choosing to be surrounded by them!

Marsius decided that this day would be different, if it were the only ‘different sort of day he ever

experienced…and then he thought on that some more and decided that he would rather do this more than

once, perhaps once every year he could forget the constrictive boundaries of responsibility, of finances and

drafty shacks and just live this life…the sort he always wanted to.

As he continued to walk, Marsius found that he was humming and he smiled because he had not

hummed for a great long time and it felt good to be happy. He bent down and picked up a blade of the fresh

green grass and gnawed the edge of it, relishing it’s sweet earthy taste as he moved on, over the gentle

sloping hills until he was at the edge of a dark forest. The trees here seemed strange to Marsius and he

marveled that he had never noticed them before. They stood, what seemed to be a very long way up from

the ground--possibly forty feet or more and the branches were such that Marsius had seldom encountered in

any time but the dead of winter. These branches were bare, their protrusions spindly and twisting: the

spaces between the branches were like gaping black holes and Marsius shuddered. It reminded him too

much of those stories his Mother had told him so long ago…stories filled with strange-half shaped
monsters with yellow teeth and rotting eyes. He remembered his Father one night after he had awakened

his Mother for the umpteenth time. He had roared at his Mother then to stop filling this child’s head with

nonsense. He had patted Marsius squarely and firmly on his shoulders and had bent to his level. Marsius

could still remember his Father’s eyes gleaming in the half-light thrown from the dying fire in it’s pit.

“Listen son, you know I love you…and that’s why I’m gonna tell you this. There is no such things

as monsters….Now your Mother likes to fill your head with nonsense but I don’t. Now go to bed and don’t

come back.” And Marsius hadn’t, not ever again: Not even when the branches would tap on his windows

during the dead of night, not even when the strangest shadows fell cast upon his bedroom floor as he lay

awake quivering beneath his quilt.

Marsius straightened up against the trees, staring into their gnarled branches with a fierce grimace,

and mockery in his over-confident gaze. He meant to tell the forest that he wasn’t afraid of it any longer,

but he found the words lost somewhere in the space between his voice and jaw and so he glared instead

before making his way through the tangled thicket.

No monsters indeed: he thought privately to himself.

Chapter Five
 Morgan waited patiently at the edge of the storm-soaked bench; trying not to concentrate on the

fact that his socks were soaked and that he hadn’t been able to change his underwear, let alone any of his

clothes, within the past two days. And yet, despite the gnawing in the pit of his half-starved stomach, and

despite the condition of his soaked and stained clothes, he felt truly and deeply very happy. He had made it,

after all. He was sitting in a park bench in New York City. He looked out towards the towering gray

buildings and felt a smile stretch across the surface of his tired cheeks. The sky was thick, and gray and it

had been thundering lightly ever since he had arrived two days before. He had spent these last two days

(nights mostly) in the same manner that he had spent the last week and a half: stretched across the tense

frame of the driver and passenger seats in, what had once been, his Father’s truck. He was hoping that the

sky would have begun to clear by this evening, and that maybe he could sleep in the bed of the truck:

staring up at the fine gray mist of polluted sleet which covered the world of stars and farther off things. But

as the day wore on, Morgan begun to feel the prospects of spending the night in this manner to be less and

less: especially with the storm clouds: black arches of sky which were moving closer and closer towards

Central Park. Most of the New York residents, even those brave-hearted tourists who had been sitting only

minutes before near the edge of the tall stone fountain, with it’s fixed angels had begun to disperse, if not

back to their comfortable warm homes, then at least to their comfortable and warm hotels.

Morgan, on the other hand, had yet to find any such place to speak of. The hotels here were costly:

at least sixty dollars a night and Morgan had only a single bill left in his pocket : a crumpled, faded twenty

dollar bill that he did not intend to give up yet…even if there were places he could find to sleep for twenty

dollars a night. Morgan had heard of these places, in passing from the other well-meaning hobos and

homeless who had judged by Morgan’s comfortable and only slightly worn attire that he himself was not

truly homeless and did, in-fact, need a bit of telling-to. And so they had told him, in leering stares and

barely decipherable mutters that there were places…downtown, where you could pay a woman, a good

woman to let you in to her apartment for the night and then….well, I’m sure anyone could guess the rest

and Morgan had, with blushed cheeks and had nodded politely and said thank-you and promised to

consider his options carefully before deciding.

“That’d be a most good idea, most good…” muttered the strange gnarled man from beneath his

layers of moth-eaten decomposing coat as he moved back towards the shadows of the park to join the

others. Morgan could hear them, sometimes during the dead of night as he lay quite awake in the locked
confines of his car…scraping about beneath the edge of his vision, muttering back and forth as they

exchanged swigs of the dark stuff in those brown-paper bagged bottles.

Morgan could only imagine what they were saying, and tried hard not to imagine the threat his life

was facing every night he braved their company….and yet, despite all of this, he still could not find it in

him to feel weary…not when there was so much of the wide world before him, not when he could hear the

gentle honking of those far-away taxi cabs in the early mornings when he finally succumbed to sleeping.

It was not long before he was awakened again, usually by the long hallow scrapes of the plastic

bags the homeless men would drag around the park: stooping down near one bench, or the other-until they

had found enough littered cans to disappear for a while to God only knows where. Usually they would

return with more brown paper bags, though occasionally a bit of food was to be seen amongst them.

Morgan usually felt his stomach churn at the sight of the food-it had been so long since he had

eaten anything but the stale remnants of some crackers he had purchased a few gas-stations back. It seemed

that he could barely remember the last time he had tasted a bit of his Mother’s home-cooking, and he had

found himself wondering at the strange mess that he had gotten himself into, lately--Especially since all the

apartments around him demanded a month’s worth of rent as a down-payment before he could establish any

sort of living quarters…only apparently he needed living quarters to fill out almost any job application he

had seen since he had begun asking for them up and down the streets at the local businesses.

He could still remember their sallow faces and empty gazes, scrutinizing his appearance as though

seeing a sopping wet and shivering stranger was no new news for them, and was, in fact only another stain

on their semi presentable carpets, which they would rather keep unstained…or so they seemed to say with

such heavy glances and indirect answers to the questions he posed for them, the most prominent of which

was usually

“Well, when can I start?” But which was usually replied with some variation of “ Well….we’ll

have to get back with you.” Morgan wondered how they planned on getting back with him-especially since

he had told them a million times, he had no phone and no way or acquiring one, at least until he set up

residence somewhere, which he planned on doing as soon as he got a job.

The whole world in New York seemed to Morgan to be a vicious cycle of this--and as he pulled

the half-wet and very smelly blanket that he had packed with him from the end of his bed in Arkansas,

around his shaking shoulders-he closed his eyes and tried his best to think on the strange, though happy
memories he had acquired as a child…memories full of dancing sprites and other fevered summer dreams,

until he was quite asleep

Chapter Six

Emilie turned back suddenly at the second step and felt a sort of strange manic laugh escape her

lips. She had nearly forgotten the key, and without the key…well: there would be no point in climbing

upstairs and no point at all in trying for her escape. She could see, some ten feet away from her against the

stone gray basement wall the image of her Father’s coffin. It stood half-open still as though he had just

risen or was contemplating a hasty return. Emilie knew that she had little time to think, that the only way

she could hope to escape him, or this place, was to be quick and thoughtless though not careless, she

reminded herself. Never careless…her Father had eyes like a hawk and ears like well…God, she supposed.

She could remember, as a child, when she had chanced sneaking down into the when he had been sleeping.
Her Father had warned her before that the basement was his room, and that she had no business being down

there, though he had asserted this gently enough: this being before Emilie knew what her Father really

was….or what she was damned to become one day.

And so, curious as any child ever was, she had crept down the dank uneven steps of her Father’s

tomb and she had peered over the edge of the banister which had separated her from the dank dungeon

below. She had meant to be quiet, truly for her Father was asleep though it seemed strange to her that she

could not find a bed for him like the one she had been fitted with upstairs…Instead, she had seen only the

half-formed image of a box against a far-off wall, an empty cupboard whose bright chestnut doors were

half-opened and the floor below it was bare and gray and the whole room had felt cold…empty and cold.

Emilie remembered shivering, remembered her foot slipping and then the slight groan beneath her weight

as she caught herself against the banister. She had barely heard the creak beneath her step, and had hardly

uttered a cry herself when a sudden door seemed to fly up and open from the top of the box against the wall

and it was then that Emilie first realized that her Father was sleeping in not so much of a box as a coffin.

She could still remember the pale outline of his terrible face in the dark, the sudden gleam of awareness in

his eyes as he realized that she now knew his dark and terrible secret. Emilie had seen this awareness, the

slight shifting of his dark eyes as the glimmer of the light from above the steps shed down left them. It was

the first time that Emilie could remember her Father as he stood then: grim and strange, his pale face

ghastly in contrast with the dark gray abyss he stood.

And there she stood, the realization that she was standing just at the edge of his coffin as he had

that long ago night struck her hard in the breast. She couldn’t resist it, she turned and looked up at the gray

uneven steps leading up and away from her, towards the place she had stood so long ago, staring down at

her Father in the half-darkness. And it was then, without warning that she felt a stab of grief in the pit of her

stomach, and her eyes began to fill with salty stinging tears. The boy was standing near the place that she

had stood: she could see the fear there on his soft child-like face as clearly as she remembered her Father’s

cool eyes--unlit and staring. She turned from him quickly: she had to get to business and fast…who knew

how long it would be before her Father returned let alone what sort of mood she might find him in and so

she flipped open the coffin door, gazing briefly over its’ purple velvet innards before she spotted the torn

stitches, an imperfection so slight that no mortal could’ve detected it without a magnifying glass and then

she slipped her index finger there and felt the rounded medal edge of the key she had sought so long before
and then-she heard the creak of a floorboard above her, heard the startled gasp of the boy on the stairs as

the basement door flew open. Emilie’s heart felt like a startled bird flying, beating and thumping

senselessly against the inside of her ribs. Her breath caught in the place between her chest and throat and,

without thinking, for thoughtlessness, not carelessness seems to be key, she pulled the silver key up into the

palm of her hand, and quickly-though as quietly as one can possibly muster in an act which requires great

speed, shut the lid of her Father’s coffin. She had no time to crawl back to he cupboard, no time to defend

the poor child who had risked his life for her sake before her Father reached the place where the child

stood, his eyes fixed not on the boy’s but out across the basement on her own.

She could see the glimmer in his intelligent dark eyes, could see the corners of his lips move into a

strange mask of a smile. It struck her then how suddenly old he seemed to her, as though he had lived too

many lifetimes and whatever had once been human about him was left in the strange folded crevices of his

eternally young face.

“And what are you doing, my dear?” The word dear struggled through the primness of his tight

lips and Emilie could think only of the creatures she had read about in her Father’s study: gentle, easily

spooked creatures, which were hunted annually each year--Emilie wondered if there were any double

meaning in her Father’s expression, though she thought better not to express it.

“I’m sorry Father…I just didn’t want to sit there anymore, and I thought that maybe we could…”

The sentence trailed off, hanging limply in the air between them. Marsius stared blankly at his daughter;

tight smile frozen across the white mask of his face. She knew then, in ways that only humans can sense,

that her Father knew the truth behind what she said, and that lying at this point would not only further

infuriate him, but possibly vex him to the point of feelings worse than fury. She clutched the key in the

palm of her hand; feeling the sharp silver edge digging into her flesh. She could see the boy still on the

stairs, his entire body frozen. It reminded her of the way rabbits freeze when spotted by a cunning cat; it is,

she knew, the last line of any living thing’s defense. Praying that if you stood still enough there, they could

not see you, could not find you. The only issue in the child’s rather sticky predicament was the way her

Father stood beside him, moving his cold white fingers onto his shoulder as he continued staring at Emilie.

“Emilie, whatever it is you need to talk about, we can certainly deal with it later.” He eyed the boy

hungrily as he spoke. And then, quicker than Emilie could consider whatever it was she was doing, she was

running full-speed towards the child and her Father, which was-for her-incredibly fast. She barely had a
moment to see the hunger in her Father’s eyes shift to confusion and then to fury before she was bounding

up the steps, before she had swooped the child up in the crook of her arm in a single lithe motion as she ran.

The door to the basement was approaching fast, and she pulled the loose iron ball of a handle to

the left and then she was bounding, bounding across the living room she had known so well all of her life,

through the tiny dust-covered kitchen with it’s untouched china crumbling quietly behind the closed

cupboard doors, until she could see the front door. She half-turned then, fully expecting to see her Father

running, bounding through the house after her-his long white fingers stretching out for the nape of her neck.

Instead she saw only the quiet halls through which she had run. She turned back, forcing the key into the

ancient lock, struggling for what seemed like a hundred years before she heard the click and pulled open

the door and stumbled blindly into the sun-filled world.

Chapter Seven

The light which poured in from between the tangled branches of the trees was pale and fell in thin

shafts around the forested world; casting shadows over all the land. Marsius stared about him, and felt truly

afraid. The earth below him was dark, crusted and un-fertile with sharp protruding gray stones littered

purposelessly throughout the forest ground. Where there were brushes and wildlife in the forests Marsius

had visited before, there were only tangled roots and thick yellow weeds. He could just make out the

skeletons of the bushes that had once stood proudly around the forest edge, or so he imagined. They were

now bare, spindly things shooting up without direction or sense-blindly hoping to land themselves

somewhere in the light’s direction. Marsius craned his ears, listening at least for the tell-tale signs of life he

quite expected or at least hoped to hear, and heard none instead. The forest rang with silence, a silence so

thick that he feared were he to speak now, to utter a cry or a laugh, he would break some age old spell and

the entire place might disappear. Marsius could remember his Mother’s stories about forest’s like these

which she had always warned him against entering; for fear of the goblins which surely inhabited the

tunnels below the forest-ground, or at least the sprites-nasty fairies who would cast charms on you and

leave you feeble and raving for the rest of your natural life. Rather than feeling deterred by these certain

points in the memory of his Mother’s tales, however, Marsius felt something like boldness creeping into he

place where his heart beat. He had, after all, never experienced anything so exciting as an adventure into

dangerous haunted lands, and here was the opportunity; staring him hard in the face. And so, with bold
steps, taking care to avoid the sharp edges of the protruding gray stones, Marsius made his way through the

forest, and searched for a comfortable, or at least decent place to rest his weary head.

There were, however, very few places Marsius deemed fit for rest. The bases of the trees, where

one might normally consider rest seemed hallowed out, too unreliable to sleep comfortably anyways and

the leaves which Marsius had reasoned would have to fall somewhere seemed to have fallen nowhere. The

earth was bare of them, and so he continued on, craning his neck this way and that around the edge of each

tree-searching for the rest his increasingly weary body demanded of him.

And then he saw it, resting between the base of two gnarled trees. It was a glimmer in the pale

shaft of light catching and holding and reflecting something brilliantly bright, for it’s reflection flashed in

blinding intervals towards his direction. Marsius shielded his eyes from the light given off there and crept

forward across the barren forest-ground. What he saw both puzzled and startled him; it was a door-knob, it

seemed: it’s pale-golden knob standing fixed beneath the crusty black Earth. Marsius knelt in the dirt beside

the strange relic, taking care to avoid any sharp rocks here before he realized that the forest ground had

been considerably cleared here: leaving only the crusty earth and a few isolated weeds brave enough to

stray away from their kindred. Marsius ran his hand over the top of the knob, and perhaps out of habit or

curiosity or a strange combination of both, he turned the thing in the Earth.

Marsius was expecting a number of things to happen; the knob to pull up into his hands was the

most prominent of his expectations and so when the thing he least expected and hardly counted on

happening happened, he fell backwards with a small and childish gasp as the door-knob had clicked as

though it had become suddenly unlocked, and a strange thudding began to issue from beneath the forest-

earth. Marsius couldn’t help but think of his Mother’s gnarled gape-toothed goblins then; he could imagine

them congregated beneath a door in the Earth, their cataract eyes gazing blindly ahead of them as they

prepared for their next meal…for it was well known that goblins preferred human flesh above all others,

and Marsius was sure that if it were goblins waiting for him beneath the door-then he was certainly in quite

a bit more trouble then he was accustomed to being in.

The thudding beneath the Earth stopped and Marsius remained frozen where he had half-fallen,

half-sat. He could feel his heart beginning to slow again to a more reasonable pace, could feel the gentle

reassuring escape of his captured breath from within his lungs as he sighed. He had been silly to believe

that there could actually be anything like goblins waiting from beneath an ancient door in the forest. It was
probably an old shed, he decided then, and nodded-relief flooding his dark eyes and relaxing his

countenance.

“An old shed or some kind of food-cellar.” Marsius had heard of farmer’s burying their excess

crops beneath the earth to preserve their freshness before and he decided that this theory of his was the best,

most likely and most probable. Besides, it certainly put his mind at ease and so, his curiosity piqued and his

heart beat resuming it’s reasonable human pace, he leant forward again and pulled the handle up. A door

followed from behind the rising knob, it’s surface was gnarled and ancient; like all the trees around it and

Marsius consoled himself in reasoning that the door had probably been built from the trees when the cellar

had been erected and this was the reason behind it’s gnarled, unsmoothed surface. He pushed the door

aside; it hung limply mid-air against what must’ve been some kind of hinge and Marsius shivered as a gust

of cold air greeted him from beneath. Marsius coughed as the gritty dark air filled his lungs: he could taste

the sulfur tint of the air on his tongue and he could taste something else…something which really had no

name to describe it by, suffice to say that it reminded him of meat that had gone bad a long, long time ago

and had been left out to collect all the impurities of age and mold around it. The smell was sickening and

Marsius felt his stomach churn uncertainly as he peered into the dark hole. He could see no ladder leading

down the pit, could not even see the bottom of it--for the light of the forest seemed not to reflect or bare any

light in this place. Rather, the pit seemed to suck all the life and light of the forest down into it. Marsius

shivered, and wondered what it was that had been left down there for so long and then he laughed because

he didn’t really know what else to do. The laugh seemed to move across the forest ground, echoing across

the edge of trees, rebounding across the Earth. Marsius could feel his laugh return to him in the form of a

deep, unsettling vibration in the pit of his stomach. He swallowed the dank scent and bitter taste in his

mouth and leaned over the edge of he pit, peering in the strange blackness beneath.
 Chapter Eight

Morgan stared in disbelief at the line which stretched across the grimy half-lit office and out the

door and down the sidewalk. The line was filled with a variety of characters and Morgan found himself

staring at them all with raw wonder, the sort which can only find it’s way into the heart of those truly

inexperienced enough in the world to find joy in the uniqueness of each human spirit. There were those

which were clearly homeless and destitute; their filthy rags were usually the thing which keyed him off, but

there were other things also. Like the faces of the women he saw; their blank eyes staring out through the

line of people ahead, down into nothing. There was something about the blank gaze which reminded

Morgan of his Mother and he felt himself shudder. There were those who seemed not destitute, but perhaps

a little down on their luck-Morgan identified these easily enough also for they all seemed clearly

identifiable by their half-priced dusty business suits and shifting gazes; each which seemed to find the

destitute and truly deprived in the line around them while they shook their heads and blinked; as though

momentarily confused why they were here in this line on this day. And then the knowledge would fill their

eyes again and they too would stare blankly ahead. Morgan, himself was waiting between two of the

homeless men he had encountered in Central Park.

He could still remember the rattling on his car window that morning, could still remember their

bleak hungry eyes staring in at him from both sides of the car as he motioned that he would open the door

and then, heart pounding in his chest, had done so.

“ Well, you hungry or what little brother?” the first man had asked and his thin, chapped lips had

stretched into a well-meaning smile revealing two rows of uneven gray teeth.. And Morgan had felt a kind

of surge of comfort then, had felt for the first time in his life a kind of ‘fitting in’ feeling, though he wasn’t

sure how proud he should be when he was fitting into a group of homeless, hungry men. Morgan shrugged;

what did it really matter where we fit in, as long as we do…right? He blinked and shifted his weight, which

was becoming increasingly little, from one knee to the next and grimaced at the tightening gnawing feeling

within his stomach.

 On the way to the food-bank, the place which the homeless men absolutely insisted on taking him,

their beady eyes filling with a kind of self-assuredness which Morgan feared disobeying or altering in any

way, they had begun to explain to him what they considered to be ‘the fact of life’.

“First off,” said the man with the rust colored beard and thick, dirty spectacles.

“You need to find yourself a constant reliable source of food…I mean, what the hell were you

living off of in that truck, kid? Spare car parts!” And the man had laughed, his eyes bulging with what

seemed to him to have been just about the funniest damned joke ever told. It took him several moments to

catch his breath again, let alone cease the constant coughing which had accompanied the laugh. During this

time, the other, a tall lanky man with soft blue eyes and knotted black hair pulled unevenly into a ponytail

behind his back, stood shaking his head at his friend. His eyes eventually met and held Morgan’s and he

smiled widely.

“ You’ll have to excuse my friend. He’s not used to company. But he’s right-you do need to find

yourself food. Now we’re taking you to the closest and most reputable food bank I can vouch for-I suggest

that after you get back on your feet though, you move on and find another…” The man with the thick rust-

colored beard nodded at this point, and after clearing his throat a final time, spoke.

“ He’s right--You’re new to this area, I can tell-and so we don’t mind giving you a leg up this time,

but you can’t just be taking over our resources, ‘kay? That’s a fact; one of the three main facts of life, isn’t’

that right Gil?” And the man had paused for a moment, had produced a pudgy, stained hand from the inside

of his pocket and proceeded to count on each sausage-link of a finger, green eyes rolling up and away from

Morgan as he considered the absolute number of ‘facts of life’ that there were. And the other man, Gil

presumably, had rolled his eyes and pounded Morgan squarely on the back.

“As I said, he’s not used to company. The second fact of life is that you have got to find your own

place--Now, seeing as how you’re so new and all, and seeing as how you happened to stumble into the only

group of New Yorkers that wouldn’t slit your throat for steppin’ on their turf, you should consider yourself

very lucky.” His eyes widened at this point and his friend nodded solemnly, stuffing his thick hands back

into his coat as they continued through the crowded sidewalk.

Morgan was trying to listen earnestly to all the advice the men had to offer him, especially since

the men seemed to truly believe that they were being helpful and Morgan was extremely grateful, but the
noises, the colors and ah-even the smells of the world around him overwhelmed him, leaving whatever was

left of his attentiveness and concentration merely nodding at the men as they spoke.

The city around him was tall; in all of his eighteen years, Morgan had never gained another word

in his rather limited vocabulary to explain it and he felt himself searching, lamely for anything; any other

word which could possibly describe what he saw. The buildings seemed to stretch up and up and up

through the clouds and into the sky. The streets were crowded passageways of honking horns and angry

voices-accompanied by the occasional fist rising from the innards of a car and producing a mere shake or

sometimes a middle finger. The sidewalks were wide, wider than any sidewalk Morgan had ever walked

through, and the people moved through them quickly-their shoulders bumping, brushing and sometimes

even knocking against Morgan’s own shoulders. They did not stop to apologize, did not turn around to be

sure that the blows they issued had not knocked him down; they continued onwards, usually yelling into

slender silver cell-phone models.

“ Thirdly, and lastly and probably most importantly--you gotta know your way around the streets,

kid. Now Gil and I-we don’t have all the time in the world, or we’d show you ourselves--but you should be

sure to familiarize yourself with how to get to this place or that, ye know?” And the man had jabbed him

playfully with his elbow as they made their way through the bustling New York city crowd and toward the

place where the line was stretching on and on, through the half-opened dusty glass doors and out onto the

bustling sidewalk.

And there he had remained for the past forty five minutes, listening attentively to the noises

around him, feeling drunk off the lights which issued from the billions of twinkling glass windows which

lined the streets and ascended through the gray morning sky. He could hear the raised voices issued forth

from the front of the crowd, could see the angry and bewildered people stalk off with a single brown paper-

bag of what Morgan assumed to be a poor selection of groceries.

“Times are getting’ tougher-you know what I mean little brother?” And Morgan had nodded and

waited, stepping a half-foot forward ever ten minutes or so as he tried to ignore the gnawing beast of

hunger which was ravaging the inside of his stomach leaving him feeling deflated and flat and still drunk

off the lights around him.

And then he was standing before the white line of clean-counter space and staring into the weary,

tired face of a man well into his sixties. There were people behind him, mostly other tired and weary people
who shuffled monotonously around the cans of split-pea soup and condensed milk. Morgan eyed the cans

hungrily and blushed when his stomach yelled in protest. He felt a gentle nudge on his shoulder, felt his

feet trip forward until his palms landed on the counter before him. The man looked at his hands and

grimaced as their sweaty, stained fingers clutched the edge of his clean counter space.

“Can I help you?” The man was not smiling. Morgan cleared his throat.

“ Well, I hope so…I’m kind of new to New York and I guess I was hoping to get a bite to eat…and

maybe a place to stay.” The man rolled his dark eyes, irritation furrowed in the lines beneath his eyes and

around his tight prim lips as he spoke.

“Well then you want to file for assisted living?”

“Uh…yes: I guess, or maybe you could just tell me of some folks that would be hiring.” The man

sighed, and shifted uncomfortably in the polyester blue rolling chair he was sitting in. He pulled open a

drawer and shifted through what seemed to Morgan, to be a lot of papers.

“You’re going to want Mainchance,” the man said gruffly, his head bowed over the files before

him as he pulled out a single manila envelope covered with what seemed to be a large coffee stain. Morgan

looked out across the counter towards the tired, blank gazes of the workers clad in white-collared shirts and

then back around him to the fifteen or so people behind him in line, who stared impatiently at him. He

could hear the tapping of impatient feet, could hear the moans which issued forth and the occasional

“C’mon guy!” or “We don’t got all day here!” But the gray-faced man who was pouring over the contents

of the manila envelope seemed oblivious to their impatience. He took his time, licking the edge of his thick

thumb as he turned the pages in the document.

“Ah--here’s the location.” And he pulled a blank purple post-it note from a pad sitting to the left of

him and scribbled the address down in clean, precise strokes. Morgan found himself wondering, suddenly,

if he were taking his time on purpose--how could anyone simply ignore the cries of those hungry souls

behind him, their gaunt eyes unfocussed as they stared hungrily about them towards the white plaster walls

and the cans of food which were lined up against them.

But then he shook his head and cleared the thought from him. Nobody was that cruel, he decided.

And the man shuffled forward, the edge of the sticky note planted to the tip of his index finger. His bleak,

tired gaze lifted and met Morgan’s as he waited; a strange smile lifted the corners of his tight, thin lips.
 “You want to hurry, now.” And Morgan seized the note wordlessly, and made his way through the

people who were blocking the half-opened glass door and out into the bustling city world again. The air felt

clean in his lungs and he inhaled deeply. He looked over the address of the note, memorizing the numbers

and street name before folding the paper over and stuffing it into the back of his dirt-crusted jeans. He

could hear the two homeless men somewhere behind him, but when he turned to wave, he saw that they

were not facing him any longer. They walked back, shuffling with the weight of the brown paper bags filled

with canned food. Morgan hoped they had a can opener among them.

Chapter Nine

Marsius, gripping the sides of the door as he did so, pressed his foot against the Earthy wall of the

hole below him. A chunk of the dried, ruined soil crumbled beneath the toe of his boot and he gripped the

sides of the half-raised door all the harder, continuing to press the top half of his body against the frame
while his foot tested the area around him. He struggled to imagine the sort of farmer who had built this

place, let alone how the hell he ever went down here to deposit anything. The place seemed to Marsius to

be a bottomless pit without a single helpful aid of descent ion. The place also stank; and Marsius felt

stomach churn as he turned to face the pit over which he stood.

“I wonder how far down…” Marsius murmured half-aloud, his face turned up towards the tangled

heap of bare branches above him. He was just considering climbing up and out of the pit, and dismissing

the entire idea as silly and quite possibly the most dangerous he had ever considered when something

below, against a wall or further off which Marsius could not see, let forth a long and terrible sigh. The

creature sounded like it had wanted to do this for a long time. Marsius’s mind filled with possible identities

for the creature, none of which were sure to issue forth any pleasant encounters for him and so, with a tiny

shriek, he began to shimmy up the side of the doors, his foot moving, kicking and rising out of the darkness

below him. Marsius stretched his palm out over the bare Earth floor and began to pull his waist up…and

then it hit him like a thousand frozen knives in the meat of his calf.

Marsius screamed and, sinking his fingers into the loose dusty ground, scrambled frantically for

the surface. But the nameless beast below him seemed wise to his plot, for it was pulling him down now,

with all the ease of a cat dragging a mouse from its hole…only the creature did not seem to have any kind

of paw Marsius had ever felt. The paws which were pulling him down steadily and with ease bore, what felt

like, long bony fingers and sharp edged nails. Surely no bear could possess such long fingers, and yet

Marsius, in his frantic state of mind, could think of nothing else and so, with all the force of a grown man

he screamed “A bear” and “Help” and he kicked and clawed frantically about him as the beast continued to

pull, its’ thin spindly claws ripping through Marsius’s pants and penetrating the outermost layer of his skin.

Marsius kicked his legs frantically, hoping to nail the thing in the head and maybe, if he were lucky

enough, knock it out.

“There’s no use struggling, really…it only makes death that much more painful.” The voice which

issued forth was a man’s, Marsius was sure of that, but it was the voice of no man Marsius had ever heard-

nor did it possess any qualities of a man’s voice, even those of the monster’s which his Mother had taken

such care to describe to him all those years ago could not compare to the icy thing which issued forth from

the man’s mouth. Marsius felt his scream frozen somewhere in his throat; he flailed his arms constantly and

finally landed on his back in the pit below him.

 It seemed like an eternity before he awoke with his head throbbing and the bottom half of his right

leg entirely numb. He opened his eyes, but it seemed no use. The world looked the same to Marsius

whether his eyes were opened or closed. He wondered, briefly, if he were not dead or dreaming or had been

impaled by something at work and was now lying unconscious somewhere. All of these circumstances

would’ve been far more fortunate for young Marsius than the one which he was actually involved in now.

“You slept for a long time…” Marsius sat up, wincing in pain as the mid-section of his spine let

out a cry of protest.

“It’ll still be painful for a while longer, I imagine. But not too much longer.” The voice was

wistful, detached and seemed different to Marsius then it had when he was fighting it’s power, half-

submerged between its’ world and his own.

“What have you done?” His voice shook and he felt tears, hot and embarrassing fill his eyes as he

pushed himself back--away from the source of the terrible voice.

“I’ve given you a new life, friend. I’ve…done my duty now.” The voice seemed tired to Marsius

then, and more human in this moment than ever before. He felt something in his chest relax though his fists

remained clinched balls at his sides.

“What does that mean? Where am I? Who the hell are you?” At this, the icy voice issued an

amused laugh. It rang throughout the caverns in the Earth below and filled Marsius with a strange mixture

of fear and pity; neither of which, as you may know dear reader, has ever served anybody well.

“Who am I? Well, that question falls unimportant next to the previous ones you asked. What does

that mean? Or rather,” the man paused, “ What does giving you new life mean? Well that one I could better

explain. I have turned you Marsius, turned you from the poor excuse of a mortal man into an immortal god-

or rather, a person endowed with all the powers of an immortal god. And as far where you are, well take a

look around you. You’re in hell, or rather my understanding of it.” The man chuckled here and Marsius

could hear him moving around in the dark, could hear the gentle scuffle of his boots against the crusted

Earth.

“But let me first explain. When I was young, like you are now, I was turned by the one before me

who had lived out his days on Earth as a vagabond, a monster and a criminal. He changed me when I was

only twenty years old and had barely tasted the nectars of man-hood. He changed me and then left me
down here to rot!” Marsius could hear the pain in the man’s voice now, could hear the silence which

stretched on and on between them before he was ready to continue his tale.

“ Well, he was sure to feed me--once, maybe twice a month-a terrible fate for those of us whose

appetite forces them to feed nightly on the fresh blood of the living, though he was always sure to keep me

company while he feasted on his own dinner.” The man scoffed and Marsius shuddered. Was this man

crazy? A lunatic or a criminal escaped from some prison trapped out in these woods by his own devices?

“And no, to answer your questions-I am not, by any means crazy. I may have been left and trapped

down here for a long time, but I can still hear your thoughts. Marsius’s mouth fell agape.

“You can hear my thoughts?” he asked and then the creature, for he surely was unlike any man

Marsius had ever met, began to move around the pit once more.

“Of course I can hear your thoughts. It’s my gift, each of us has one and soon you will find your

own-through time, and practice and my help.” Marsius felt his heart drop into the pit of his stomach.

“What do you mean….with your help?”

“I mean only what I say-my Master has gone now, and he has not been back for two months. You

will never know the energy it took me, the self-restraint to turn you at my point of weakness…” His voice

trailed off in the darkness around him.

“But no matter now, you shall be my new friend, and I shall be your new Master…But first things

first-I need you to stand up, as best as you can. I think we are both sure to parish if we cannot get some of

the hunt in us.” Marsius felt whatever previous reasoning had been left in his weary mind dissipate as he

became aware of his hungriness…a hunger more deep and intense then any he had ever experienced before

as living human being.

 Chapter Ten

She had had the dream again that night. It always happened the same way: she would think she

had awakened from some noise around her and she would turn to see a man perched at the edge of a bed-

his boyish face fixed with eager green eyes and a bright smile. He would stretch out his hand towards her,

as though to take her from her bed on some walk or journey that she didn’t know the end or outcome of, but

she would find that she was quite frozen and couldn’t move. She would stretch her hand outwards, straining

to meet the boy’s eager warm hand which was only an inch or so away from hers now when-POP-she

would awaken without any warning or desire. She had been having this same dream for as long as she

could remember, and each night that she happened-she would find herself awakened in much the same

disappointed, hopeless manner…wondering if she would ever reach his hand and find out where it was he

would take her…and for that matter, just who in the hell the man was.

She had poured over various ‘dream analyses’ books: the sort of thing her Father would’ve

drudgingly referred to as ‘scum literature’ and for which, Emilie highly doubted he was aware he possessed
so many copies of, but to no avail-the picture of the boy and his origin seemed as though it would remain

nameless always, and perhaps that was for the best. Some things are best left in the dream world where they

may remain perfectly unscathed by human life and all the harm they could come to amongst us.

She only wished she vaguely, and with the slightest bit of unsuppressed longing that she had her

Father’s study about her now, for at least she could comfort herself with some tales of knights in dashing

armor who ride far and hard to save the princess trapped in her castle lands-only Emilie was no longer

trapped anywhere, save the for condition of being helplessly and irrevocably lost amongst the tall wheat

fields and narrow dusty roads which lined them. It seemed that the whole world might be empty, save for

her Windowless Manor and the occasional half-constructed farm-house whose proud bows stood leaning

into he bright yellow light of morning.

And at least there was that to be thankful for, she reminded herself: for it had only been three days

since she had been begging for some knowledge of what the sun might actually be like. She breathed the

fresh autumn air deep into her lungs and smiled cheerfully up towards it-giving thanks to whatever it was

which had saved her that seeming far-off morning, not to mention the boy who was trudging along side her,

quite as lost and useless with directions as she-but still amiable enough company.

“How long till we’re home?” he asked-kicking his bright short legs out in front of him, raising a

current of dust and stone to the wind as he moaned. Emilie wanted to tell him something comforting like

“not much longer” or “just a bit further”, but she also could not bring herself to lie to the boy-she had been

honest with him to his point, or at least as honest as time and circumstances would permit and so she

scooped him up into her arms here and looked frankly into his tired eyes.

“I would hope not much further, for both of our sakes-but it seems that we’re lost: Are you sure

you don’t remember any street name you were on, or any landmark: a tree even?” The boy shook his head

hopelessly and Emilie plopped him back down at her side where he resumed kicking up plumes of dusty

rocks and gravel.

“Listen,” she said gently and the boy looked up towards her-his tender youthful face lined with

fatigue and fear. He had been through more in these past two days then he had in the course of his entire

young life, and it was showing in the depths of his wizened brown eyes brimming fast with tears as she

spoke.
 “We’re going to find your parents okay-it can’t be too far from here, surely.” And so, grasping the

child’s hand firmly in her own-they had continued their venture-she with all the hearty determination which

is borne in the spirit of true adventurer and he with all the tired weariness of a child badly in need of a nap.

They stopped occasionally, when they were too tired to keep walking or too hungry-and they would feed on

whatever little sustenance the wild weeds and berries offered and continue on down the dusty trail before

them.

Occasionally, the young boy would smile and point to something-a tree or particularly bright

flower and exclaim that it reminded him of just the ones he had back home, but then he was usually

reminded once more that he was far away from home and this usually brought about more tears, much to

Emilie’s chagrin.

Night was beginning to fall fast again--the day had outworn itself, and Emilie was beginning to

lose hope in ever finding the boy’s home when suddenly and quite without warning--a rusty colored animal

on four legs with a large pink tongue and two pointed ears came bounding out from a place high up on a

hill and the boy released her hand quickly, quite forgetting her while yelling

“Buddy! Buddy! I knew I’d find you!” The animal pounced the child playfully and licked him full

across the face in happy strokes. The child was besides himself with delight. Emilie stared wordlessly

around her, towards the gaping hill with it’s run-down white-washed picket fence bordering what appeared

to be, another faceless shack in the country. She was just about to ask the boy what on Earth a “buddy” was

when a light flicked on in the shack above and a large man with rugged blue overalls and a red fleece shirt

ran out onto the porch-craning his neck down towards the little trio of bodies at the base of the hill.

“Charlie? Is that you?” he cried hopefully and the boy seemed to forget both Emilie and the dog

now and hurried up towards the hill and into the arms of, what Emilie could only assume was the boy’s

Father. She watched the happy scene from the bottom of the hill and tried her very best to be happy for

him-despite the growing misery she felt in having lost her first real companion and being forced now to

endure the remainder of God only knew what before she found her own home…somewhere. She sighed

and forced a smile and waved up cheerfully towards the boy and his Father, who glared down at Emilie

instead and hurried into the shack-porch door slamming closed behind him. Emilie shrugged and moved

towards the road once more: night was falling, and it was the worse time to be traveling-she knew, for it

was the very knowledge programmed into her by the awareness of her Father’s own ghostly schedule which
had fixed it there, and yet…she felt that if she did not start walking now, she might just give up and so she

walked: on through the night until the bright pink embers of early dawn greeted her from the foot of the

horizon.

It was then, when all the world seemed faintly illuminated to her beneath the bright glow of the

sun stretching overhead before her, and when her stomach-churning with hunger had now seemed to pass

into a state of desperation that she had made out the image of a fellow traveler. He was short, perhaps the

shortest man she had ever seen-and sporting a rather stained, though well-worn top hat which sat atop his

egg-shaped head. Beneath the rim of this hat, he seemed to sport a rather thick head of dark curly, unruly

hair which sputtered out from the top of his head and ears, even-it seemed, forming a strange kind of halo

that was not altogether unbecoming of the odd little fellow. The little man tapped, what appeared to Emilie

from this distance-for she was still quite a distance off from the little man, to be a rather large-too large for

him, she should think-though she’d never think to say a thing like that, oak-fixed cane.

Emilie blinked, rubbing her sleep starved eye lids as the ground beneath the cane became suddenly

illuminated beneath a dazzling blue light which extended not only to the ground around the short man, but

also on the road before him, turning this way and that across the rows of uneven hills until the short man,

seemingly satisfied with the response of his cane, tapped the strange instrument again-three times, Emilie

noted with stunned amazement-sending the strange blue light back into the foot of the cane.

One the spectacle had quite passed, and Emilie found that she could catch her breath again once

more-she ran with all the energy she had left in her stunned limbs, for it was not much and it caused her

great agonies to expend what little she had left, to cross the distance between herself and the little man who

stood-seemingly fixed like a statue in the ground before her, waiting.

“Well, it’s about time you got down here,” the little man said. “ I was just beginning to wonder if

you would actually work up the courage to come walking with me, at least until our roads should next

diverge.” And here the man smiled broadly-removing the top hat from his crown of black curly hair, and

then tipping it out on the ground before him while bowing so low that Emilie was quite worried, for a

moment, that he might topple over with his, apparently reverent displays of respect.

“Oh, well, yes…*I didn’t want to be a bother,” Emilie muttered beneath her breath, reddening as

the words tumbled awkwardly from her lips. The man smiled, revealing two rows of uneven gray teeth and

shifted his beady eyes onto hers.

 “Oh well, I should think I would let you know if it were trouble miss. Besides, a man gets lonely

walking all this terrible way by himself. At least you can keep me company, till I tire of you.” Emilie shook

her head; bewildered, momentarily by the little man’s switch between extreme respect and casual insults.

But she shook her head, thinking better to say nothing of it as she carefully worked out the words she

planned on speaking next, for it was imperative in her mind-that she say at least something half-intelligent

so the man wouldn’t think her a complete buffoon.

“So, what’s your name?” she asked finally-thinking that the question was plain enough in itself

and might clear her of any suspicions she hoped he was not having about her intellect or character.

“Mine? I’m Demetrius,” he said, and here, tipped his hat again in her direction. Emilie smiled at

the display of flattery, pushing her fists into her mouth to keep herself from giggling.

“And what is yours, dear miss?” he asked, flashing yet another smile in her direction.

“Oh, me? I’m Emilie,” she said, and after a moment’s hesitance-shoved her hand before his rather

over-large middle and waited for the gesture to be reciprocated.

She had, after all, read that this was customary enough when first introducing yourself to a

stranger, thought the little man seemed to think the gesture a bit strange. He was thoughtful for a moment,

rubbing the edge of his beard-stubbled chin before taking her hand in his, gripping the fingers with an

exceeding amount of pressure and then pumping his wrist and hers up and down. He smiled, seemingly

satisfied by his success as Emilie tried to politely wrench her fingers from his rather over-tight grip.

“You’re new to these parts, aren’t ya?” the short man asked, removing his hat from his fuzzy head

and brushing the brim of it with his short, pudgy fingers.

“ Well…what makes you say that?” Emilie asked, deciding that it would be better to learn how she

might improve upon blending in before admitting that, truthfully-she had never been anywhere to her

knowledge but all the nooks and crannies of the windowless manor so many miles away…She stared

wistfully out over her shoulder towards the green, lopping hills and began to wonder privately to herself

whether she were not making some kind of mistake leaving her Father there to fend for himself.

She knew he could be vicious, and that sometimes his choice of communications with her seemed

a bit barbaric, and that his mind seemed limited to converting her or killing her-a fact which did play a bit

on her nerves at times, and yet…well, he wasn’t all bad. You see, Emilie was of the faith that there must be

a little good in everyone or there wouldn’t be any bad to compare it by….She could see the short, round
man studying her however-his beady eyes intent upon her own and so she decided that it might be best to

contemplate this, if at all, a little further down the road-when she did not have company to worry about

entertaining. The man nodded and then stopped, putting his pudgy hands squarely on Emilie’s own hips,

which seemed to be the highest point that he was capable of reaching, before he seemed to think better of it

and removed his hands, stuffing them squarely in the over-large front pockets of the ruined, red circus coat

he was wearing. He stood before her, eyeing her with his beady eyes as he shook his head.

“Okay, well for the first thing--you just gave me every bit of information you had, I should think,

within the last few minutes of your “private” thinking, and for another--well, if you are who I’m starting to

think you might be…then reason itself would dictate that you’d stay as far away from me as you could

manage.” Emilie blinked in disbelief.

“Whoa! Whoa!” she said, holding up her hands for emphasis as she continued. “How on Earth do

you know about anything I was thinking…unless, well: your not a vampire are you?” And here her eyes

filled up with terror as she scrutinized his physique, namely his slightly parted lips for she was searching

for the remnants of some fangs, all the while wondering that he could sit so complacently beneath the over-

bearing sunlight above.

But here, the short man’s eyes narrowed, and his tight lips were drawn back in what appeared to

Emilie to be, a quite offended snarl.

“What do you mean, am I a vampire?” he shot, dark eyes glaring up at Emilie who blushed and

stepped back from the short man; being sure that she was a safe enough distance from him before he spoke

again.

“Well, I’m sorry…it’s just that my Father said that some vampires can read minds, and well…I

didn’t know of any humans being able to read them, so I…I’m sorry if I offended you,” she said.

“I just assumed.” The man snarled at her, rolling his dark eyes, though his lips seemed to relax a

bit back into their place as he folded is arms haughtily about his rather hefty middle.

“Well, there’s another easy enough cue that your not from around here…people, do not just

assume. Not unless they want to get themselves killed with their slander.” The man dropped his arms from

his barrel-like chest and sighed.

“But, I can tell your new and seeing as how you think the world is full of only vampires and

humans,” and here he paused to let himself enjoy a small private laugh at her expense, “Then I suppose I
can let you off this time…You’re just lucky you ran into me on this road and not some less well-tempered

guy, or you might’ve gotten your teeth knocked in.” Emilie blushed fiercely at this last bit of advice and

folded her own arms haughtily around her comparatively rather slight frame.

“I would not have gotten my teeth knocked in!” she said, and then thinking better of insulting the

man’s cooling demeanor, she finished with “Well, at least I hope not.” The man chuckled to himself,

flashing her a good-natured grin as he continued forward.

“Well, I happen to be a man of a bit more experience then you seem to possess yourself, lass-and I

say you probably would’ve gotten your teeth knocked in…So, are you in fact Emilie of Marsius’s Emilie?”

Emilie felt a chill run through her spine at the mention of her Father’s name on the man’s lips. The man

laughed, his jolly belly jiggling slightly-reminding Emilie for a moment of a bowl of jelly her Father had

once laid out for her at the table near Christmas-time.

“Didn’t think I could know about ‘yer old man, now did you? Ah, but all of the circus folk have

heard the rumors about you; especially since that mad-man shut you up in there all those years ago.” He

eyed Emilie thoughtfully, removing from the front of his coat pocket a rather well-used corncob pipe and

smiling as he filled it from a pouch of sweet smelling powder.

“Circus Folk?” Emilie asked, eyeing the man with her bright green orbs to ensure that his gaze

didn’t break from hers and reveal that this was all some sort of prank he was pulling over her head.

“Yeah: we’re the little people who can do a bit of magic here and there…though mostly, I think we

just like to sing and hang out in the valleys below…there happens to be a rather well-established little

village only a few miles from your house, in fact and this is where I am going.” He smiled and rubbed his

chin thoughtfully with one hand as he rummaged in the other for some sort of lighter before, promptly

smacking himself on the forehead and muttering some variation of “Oh Bloody Hell” and then, much to

Emilie’s surprise, with the snap of his fingers the pipe was lit and he began to puff the smoking powder

through the thin ventricle of a pipe-stem and then out in the residual form of several rather impressive

smoke-rings; all of which Emilie eyed with awe.

“And why are you going there?” Emilie asked-surveying the road before them now, for she could

see that it was splitting off in two directions and she was plainly hoping that she might be able to follow

him a while longer without seeming to obvious in the process.

 “Well, to trade me’ lass. How else is an honest man to make a buck?” And here, he winked at her

and took another puff of the pipe at hand. Emilie nodded thoughtfully at the term buck: wondering if he

meant the four legged animals she had read about in several of her Father’s encyclopedias.

But here the man shook his head, laughed and after a moment’s thoughtful contemplation, in

which he produced a few more savory smoke rings, seemed to think better of it and say nothing. He

approached the fork in the road and smiled-sticking his hand out before her, this time and waiting. She took

the palm of his hand, half-heartedly pumping the rough pudgy fingers for she feared that this was good-bye

and she also feared that she might not meet anyone else on the road before her.

“Can’t I go with you, to your village?” she asked, and her tummy rumbled simulentaneously-as if

in plea with the man who was shaking his head solemnly before her, the bushy black curls which hung

down against his face bobbing to the left and right as though in agreement.

“Afraid not…the land will quite disappear for you anyways once you continue with me past a few

feet: it’s a magical spell the elders took upon themselves of enchanting the place wit to prevent robbers and

other unwanted guests into this village…though I wouldn’t’ mind bringing you a loaf or so of bread for

your journey, for you do look hungry.” He patted her shoulder, flashed her another wink and then continued

on the road which ventured out to the left before he disappeared with a tidy pop before her.

Emilie stood staring after the man for a ling time, wringing her hands and wondering if she were

not losing her mind or suffering from some severe food deprivation before there was yet another pop and

the man in question re-appeared, sporting for her-this time-a rather large, steaming loaf of bread and a

wheel of yellow cheese which he passed to her before patting her cautiously at the hip.

“You’ll be okay kid, try not to look so down-spirited…and any person not in league with that mad

man is a friend to the circus folk: if we can help you, well-just give a clap or something and remember me

by name, Demetrius.” And before disappearing a final time down the dusty dirt road, he tipped his hat again

to Emilie and winked.

Chapter Eleven
 Morgan stared around the empty skeleton of an apartment with its thin plaster walls and thick coat

of dust, which covered not only the windows-but the floor, the sink, the counter-even the ceiling seemed

covered with the stuff, and he sighed.

“I’ll take it.” The woman’s brow lifted skeptically and she shifted her weight, which was rather

considerable for a woman of her height, across her hips and she tapped her foot a few times against the

hard-wood floor. Thin plumes of dust rose up from the floor as she did this, and Morgan had to cover his

nose and mouth to keep from coughing.

“ Are you sure? The place is a wreck-and I’m not cleaning it, I have my hands full as it is.” She

took a puff of her cigarette and blew a ring of smoke out towards the dust-covered windows.

“Yeah, I’m sure-how much for a down deposit?” Morgan normally wouldn’t have been so eager,

not so pushy-especially for a place that was about half the size of the shack he had grown up in and smelled

a lot like death and robotizing, but hell--he had to be to work in less than twenty minutes and he did not

want to spend the next night in Main Chance again.

The place wasn’t bad, by any stretch--the beds were sanitary enough, as far as cots with thin, worn

sheets went-the meals square, and yet…somehow the allure of a home of his own had begun to take on a

new meaning and power for him-He had to have a home of his own, and everything had to have a start

somewhere…right? He flipped on the switch in the living room and winced as the place came to life

beneath the harsh cheap yellow bulbs-The lady saw the expression which passed across his face and

sighed, shaking her head as though she had seen his type a million times before and hell, maybe she had.

“250 a month plus electric.” She handed him the tarnished stub that was his key from the depth of

her coat pocket and managed a menacing yellow-toothed grin.

“Welcome to your new home, I’ll bring the lease by tomorrow for you to sign.” And here she had

slammed the worn white door in its frame, and Morgan had coughed because of the dust the activity had

raised--He knew he would have to clean this place head to foot before it would be suitable, let alone even

livable--he also knew that the place was a veritable dump with a barely working toilet and rusted shower to

boot and that 250 plus electric was absolutely atrocious rent to ask for a place like this which, were it to be

visited by any health-inspector that day instead of young fool-hearted Morgan, it would’ve been torn down

instead of purchased. It was a veritable waste-land, but it was Morgan’s veritable waste-land and he took

comfort in that.
 He laid his key out on the rust-stained periwinkle blue kitchen counter and then quickly went to

work with the few spare rags, ragged socks and other pieces of left-over clothing which the landlady had

stacked neatly in, what Morgan hoped would one day be his linen closet. He wet the cloths as best as he

could beneath the slow, unsteady trickle of water from the sink and then he began to scrub the living room

floor.

Now, when Morgan began his journey-the sun was quite high in the sky, having just risen only

hours before-and so he was left with light enough and so he flicked off the terrible yellow light from the

bulbs overhead and did his best to enjoy the rare, well-tempered weather which the rest of New York below

him was surely enjoying, that is-if they looked around them enough to notice. But when Morgan had

finished scrubbing the apartment down, and when the sweat on his arms and forehead stood out in thick

salty beads which trickled down his body-the sun had almost altogether set and Morgan was becoming very

hungry, tired and aware that his shift down at the paint-can factory started in less than an hour. And so, with

a nervous laugh in his throat and a sort of longing look at the pale-yellow fridge which was still bare of

food, he set out on his way downtown feeling positively the most elated he had since he had come to New

York.

It was only when Morgan came home later that night-his happy face specked with paint and worn

with fatigue that he remembered that he was quite without a bed. The information did not trouble him any,

however, for the moon was shining bright overhead-and his heart was truly happy. He had suffered and

toiled all evening-sure: but in the back of his mind, he had known he would have a place to come home to

and rest and that knowledge filled him with more hope and happiness than any physical suffering could’ve

hoped to alleviate from him. He went to sleep on the bare, freshly-washed hardwood floor; staring up

towards the light of the pale moon overhead and eventually, dreaming of a girl whose face he couldn’t quite

make out, though he could see her hand stretched out towards him in the darkness ‘round.

Chapter Twelve

Marsius stared dumbfounded at the image of the village he had always known so well as it lay

stretched out before him the dark-It seemed to him that he had never really seen the village until this point;

for every detail of its high walls were suddenly made clear to him, every blade of its fresh green pastures
identified for in the individual sound it made brushing against the other in the gentle evening breeze. He

could smell the gentle scents too; smells which were as richly unique as they were varied-from the rich

smells of the Earth below his naked feet to the slightly salty odor of human sweat-it was all here before him

and Marsius drank it in for a long time and with great personal glee as his new companion scoured the land

below.

“Well, we can’t just sit out here all night and expect to be fed,” Victor said finally and Marsius

shrugged his shoulders and swallowed as he realized that he was hungry; enormously, savagely hungry--it

was a feeling which shook the frame of his bones and rattled his core and made his mouth salivate. He

remembered, then that he had some bread from yesterday’s dinner still on the counter and then gagged,

much to his own confusion to imagine eating it-for it was not bread he wanted anymore; it was

something…something in that salty smell which was accosting him from the half-open window of every

inhabited house. He felt the urge to tear down the hill and throw open the door-if not to satisfy his own

animalistic hunger, than to at least satisfy his curiosity as to what it was he exactly planned to do from

there. He could see that Victor was smiling at him, could feel the long thin skeletons of his fingers as they

laced between his own; leading him down the hill in the shadow of the night-towards the inhabited village

grounds`

“Do not be so hasty, my friend--not all doors are opened to our kind and we must first have an

invitation,” and here the lanky gentleman flashed Marsius a wide, white grin which filled him with dread

and sent chills down his spine. He could feel the hunger within him; raging beast-like and terrible and he

felt that he could almost just eat Victor here and now if it weren’t for his terrible smile and all the

knowledge that it hinted at, knowledge which Marsius could only imagine Victor would spend the rest of

his immortal life holding over his own head, procuring his safety and perhaps status between them. The

thought filled Marsius with dread and Victor wrapped his bony arm around him as they passed by the side

of a village shack where, Marsius could smell the sweet salty aroma more than ever-it permeated the air,

leaving tendrils of it on the back of his eager tongue. He could hear the people inside chatting amitatedloy;

could hear the domestic rustling of forks and spoons and plates as the dinner table was set.

Victor was circling the building, peering carefully into each window and smiling savagely as he

did so. Marsius had a feeling that Victor had not seen sustenation in a very long time, he only hoped that he
too would have a chance of a share of whatever it was that those mortals were eating. Victor sauntered over

to him, grasping his shoulder in his palm while staring intently down into his dark eyes.

“ Now I need you to shut-up and follow my lead, we are going to knock on the door and I am

going to pretend to be very injured--you are to inform them that I will surely collapse and ask if we may

come, it is very important you ask and that you say we, you understand me?” His eyes flashed and Marsius

did his best to nod and give off the impression that he did understand, when he was, in fact, quite puzzled

by all of this.

“Yeah, yeah-I think so,” he said and Victor nodded. “Good, then let’s go to the door and I’ll start

moaning.” And here, Victor crumpled against Marsius’s frame and began moan and wail and make quite a

scene. Marsius stood dumbly for a moment before Victor kicked him the ankle and then he marched

forward-round to the front door, dragging almost all of Victor’s weight as he did so-which he found to be

quite an unnecessary bit for the acting part-and then knocked eagerly at the heavy oak door. There was a

moment of silence, a few scuffling chairs from within and a woman’s voice clearly audible above e the rest

warning the others to ‘be quiet and stay back’ and then she, a robust red-haired woman with a worn, grimy

face and two beady eyes opened the door.

“Yes? Can I help you?” Here, Victor let out another heart-wrenching moan which sent shivers

down Marsius’s spine and made him wince involuntarily. The woman drew her shawl around her and

peered suspiciously out at the two men.

“ Well, you see Ma’am, it’s my friend-he’s on the verge of collapse here and we were wondering,

if it would not put you out much-if we might come in and rest a bit before continuing our journey.” The

woman peered out in the dark towards Victor who squinted up his face and closed his eyes and proceeded

to let out another earth-shattering howl. The woman stepped back and nodded.

“Perhaps that’d be best; you said he’s on the verge of collapse, what’s ailing him?” She pulled the

door open and Marsius and Victor entered quickly over the threshold. Marsius felt a rush of air blow past

his ankles as he did so; the entire experience was very chilling.

“Well , I can’t be sure what exactly it is-that ails him, but me thinks it might’ve been some of the

wild berries back in the woods-we’ve been traveling see, and we got to getting very hungry.” Marsius could

smell the scent here; it was alive and pulsing , it’s warm breath soft and inviting-calling him gently towards

the robust red-haired woman and the four children gathered around the dinner table, all of which Victor was
eyeing hungrily from his half-squinted eyes. Marsius tried to swallow the hunger down, but he felt it

overpowering as the woman drew closer, as her hand his shoulder, drawing him towards the dinner table

with murmurs of how hungry he must be and the like.

Victor was already seated quite comfortably between two young boys, their dark hair falling

unkempt around their ivory necks. Marsius licked his lips hungrily; feeling himself drawn to those two thin

swan necks which Victor was wrapping his hands around now-defensively almost, as though the children

were his own pets. The Mother eyed him strangely, her fierce beady eyes working between fear and

mistrust and settling on anger.

“What are you doing? Get the hell out of my house! Don’t be touching my boys!” She growled

and here Marsius threw the children aside, lunging across the table towards the startled red-haired woman

who never had the chance to scream. He was on her in a flash, quicker than the strike of lightning it

seemed, and he was draining the life out of her through two tiny puncture holes he had inflicted on her

thick neck. Marsius stared in horror at the image of the dying woman-her limp arms fighting helplessly,

wordlessly against the overpowering predator who was feeding hungrily against her bleeding neck before

he pulled away, turning his blood-streaked face over to look at Marsius who was standing frozen, staring at

him wordlessly.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” he asked simply, as though there were nothing at all to the

question before resuming his fill on the still-struggling woman. Marsius looked around him towards the

screaming children, their tiny eyes filled with tears as he sauntered over to them-He could feel the hunger

churning deep inside of him, could feel his hands raise out before him-the motion was nearly involuntary:

he was drawing one of the boy’s with the white neck towards him, he was pushing his newly found fangs

into the barely-resistant flesh and then his head began to fill with the sound of drums: the steady thump,

thump thump which was pulsing from the boy into him-filling his temples, his chest, his stomach with all

of the satisfaction his hunger craved, needed, wanted. He was filling on the child whose gently flailing fists

had fallen still, whose life-source was fading into a slow and occasional thumping now, and which then

went silent. Marsius dropped the boy and stared in horror at the lifeless boy before he too was screaming

with the remaining children, screaming because his soul was lost now-screaming because he was a monster

and screaming because the child was so lifeless before him while he felt filled and revived and entire.
Victor ran from the still corpse of the woman towards him, clasping his thin bony hand over his mouth-

while eyeing him with all the vehement hatred of a thousand men.

“ What do you think you’re doing? Fool! You’ll get us caught!” And here Victor grabbed another

child, the other boy-Marsius though, but he couldn’t be sure because he was turning now and running out

from the little shack so familiar to his own-out across the dark fields towards town, towards the blacksmith

job he had held only that same morning. He touched the cold stones before it and wept bitterly in the still of

the night: He could feel the gentle rustling of the leaves as they stroked his skin and he hated himself for

being their barrier, he could hear the foot-steps of some late-night traveler, somewhere in the distance and

he hated that he/she should see him now, like this…a monster, when he had always been such a good man.

“Excuse me, sir?” Marsius looked up and saw a woman--she was not only beautiful, her long thick

platinum hair falling in careful curls around her pale face, her blue eyes and red lips--but she was smiling at

him with all the tender compassion that any human being, when true of spirit and intent, is capable of. He

stared at the apparition before him; only half-believing now what he was seeing with his own eyes.

“ Are you alright? You look so shaken,” she said and Marsius pushed himself to standing from the

stones, wiping the tears from the corners of his eyes angrily with his white fists.

“ I’m fine, just a little out of sorts,” he said and the lady removed her shawl and passed it to him.

“Here, I think you need this tonight more than I do,” she said gently and Marsius wrapped the material-

more soft in texture than anything he had felt before-around his shivering frame and smiled thankfully.

“ Thank-you, I’m Marsius,” he said and extended his shaky white palm.

“Rosaline,” she said and Marsius felt a chill go through his spine as she said it-as though her

words were enchanted, as though with each word that she spoke-he could feel the agony from his heart

lifting a bit, could feel the image of the dead child burning less into the back of his eyelids.

“Well-I better be going, my Father worries when I’m out too late,” she said and with a final wave

of her petite gloved hand, she turned from the frozen statue of a man and left him-quite alone and shaking

in the world again.

He drifted back, eventually towards the cabin he had always held with such high regard before, for

frankly-he did not know where else he might hope to go. The woods were a dead end of thickets and

monstrous quiet: plus, he did not know when that fiend of a man, Victor might return again-and if he knew

nothing else, he knew that he did not want to be caught in league with him again…He would make his own
way in the world, somehow-he supposed, though he could feel the remnants of his last meal wearing away

now, could feel the angry surge of hunger as it poked it’s ugly head through his belly again. He

shivered as he passed along the deserted plains and valleys amongst him. Each blade of grass glittered with

the light of the moon overhead, giving the entire place a look of surrealism which his tender, fledgling eyes

were not quite yet acquainted with at this point.

He could hear the howling of some distant wolves; though even that noise seemed new to him,

filling his heart with a feeling of mortal dread as he walked on, quite alone and quite shaking through the

high-weeded plains and then, eventually…finally, it seemed for the walk had taken quite a bit more energy

out of him than he thought it would, he reached the place he had called home for as long and as far back as

he could remember…or what was left of it.

A few, mostly burnt logs-maybe, at most. The ground around his cabin, which he reminded

himself, had been standing only moments before, was charred and black, the once green Earth seemed

scarred; maimed, perhaps beyond repair. Marsius could feel the chills run through his spine, could hear the

not so distant howling of the wolves again. His heart began to beat then, quickly-not with anger, at

first….that would come later, he was sure-when he was certain of who had been responsible for such

meaningless crimes, and furthermore-when they had paid…But now, his heart was beating with a feeling

one can only describe as fear, pure, undiluted and terrible fear. It worked through his temples, sending

throbbing pulses of pain through his still adapting sensors, seizing his heart-forcing it to be frozen in its

place as the intensity of the howling around him increased in number while diminishing, simulentanously,

in distance. It seemed that if he only turned his head now, he would catch a glimpse of the great, hairy

beasts and so, with all the courage he could muster-which was not very much apparently, for he could only

manage to divert his eyesight in his presently half-frozen condition, he looked out across the lush green

hills towards the five, hair-covered men who stood, scowling at him a mere ten feet away.

They were beasts of men; their large, yellowish eyes gleaming fiercely in the half-dark around

them. Marsius could see, from where he was standing-much to his own shock, the wolfish furry ears which

were poking up from the bases of their shiny, fur covered skulls. Marsius could feel his breath catching

somewhere in his throat, and he could hear the steadily quickening thump-thumping of his heart in his ears.

The wolfish men growled, baring rows of white, pointed teeth.

 Marsius tried, desperately and with all the energy he could summon, to move his legs from the

place where he was standing dumbly, like a deer frozen in the headlights of some quickly approaching

carriage-but to no avail, it seemed that by fear or some power other than his own-he was frozen to the

banks of his charred home. One of the wolf-men; particularly tall and fierce, Marsius noted grimly to

himself, was approaching the place where he stood rooted: he could see the grim tight smile which was

spread across his fur-covered cheeks.

“Didn’t I tell you to stay away from these parts?” the man growled deep from within his throat.

Marsius cleared his own as best as he could manage-praying that he did nothing to offend the fearsome man

with the menacing snarl.

“Me? No, I don’t think you told me…Maybe we haven’t met yet, I’m Marsius,” and here he

extended his limp hand before him-offering it up to the furry beast of a man, who was towering over him-

yellowish eyes baring deep into his own terrified gaze.

He slapped the hand away, growling fiercely at Marsius as he did so-though he seemed to be

inwardly considering something, his yellow eyes danced back and forth over Marsius’s image, as though

studying him for some details which he had not quite yet studied. Marsius stood beneath the scrutiny of the

wolf man’s yellow eyes and gulped.

“It’s not him,” the man finally snarled towards his group of cackling wolf-men. One of them

licked his lips and snarled.

“Aww…well, can’t we eat him anyways?” he asked, much to the other’s delight-for they quickly

joined in with him for their pleas of Marsius’s flesh. The wolf man, standing closest to Marsius barked

fiercely at his crew.

“Stop! Mind you…we’re in the presence of our guest here, for you are our guest,” the wolfish man

said, leaning forward as he spoke until he had quite blocked out what little bit of moonlight had been

previously provided for Marsius. Marsius tried to nod, though he seemed only to be able to manage a slight

titter of his jaw in an upward motion. The wolf cackled; a deep, raspy laugh that seemed to shake the

ground around him.

“I like you,” he said-licking his lips as he surveyed Marsius’s torn clothing and heaving chest.

“Though not quite enough to eat…so I guess I’ll let you off with a little warning…if, and only if

you do this one thing for me,” and here he leant close to Marsius, as though preparing to uncover for him
some private secret which was shared between the two of them in perfect confidence, though the words he

spoke next seemed to Marsius to be unnecessarily loud-the reverberations of their meanings felt etched into

his brain and his ears were still ringing for a long time after.

“IF YOU SEE THAT LITTLE SCOUNDEREL, VICTOR…YOU ARE TO BRING HIM TO

ME…ALIVE. Do I make myself clear?” And here he smiled-a wide, sharp-toothed grin, bowed his head

low to Marsius’s chest and dropped to all fours, bounding off towards the group who had also resumed their

positions on all four legs before bounding off, silently over the hills towards the forest Marsius had been

considering inhabiting only a short time ago. He felt a chill pass through his spine, and then the full force of

his unclenched limbs came undone, as though that same spell which had bound him had released itself

now--and he fell, in a quiet heap of half-sobs to the ground, clutching the remnants of his home to his chest

as he wept bitterly…for the world around him had become a very strange place in a very short amount of

time, and it seemed for poor Marsius that there was nothing he could do to bring the old world: consistent,

regular and beloved of him-back.

 Chapter Thirteen

Emilie gasped as the speeding yellow taxi cab drove through the huge pot-hole filled with gray

rainwater, which she had been observing for some time. The puddle had caught her attention, because it

seemed marvelous that something as muddied as this puddle still managed to reflect the crowded stretch of

the New York City horizon which surrounded her now. But when the water splashed up from the ground

had hit her fully on the face, further drenching her already sopping wet hair and clothes, she flew back from

the place she had been standing and consoled herself by gazing directly at the horizon instead. She

shivered and stepped back from the half-empty puddle and eyed the crowded street wearily; the pale

sunlight which ventured here and there between the dark gray clouds stung her eyes and she winced.

She had been traveling for two days and nearly twelve hours--stopping only to rest here and there

amidst thick brushes and the tangled over brush which had paved the roads from the windowless manor she

had left. Two days, twelve hours and a brief half hour detour, she had reminded herself then; for the child

whom she had returned to his overjoyed parents had been on the front of her mind for some time. She could

not erase the image of his gentle sloping eyes or relaxed smile or the way he had wrapped his arms about

his Father so tightly as he had surveyed the scene around him, eyeing her with such terrible suspicions.

Emilie didn’t ever think she could forget that boy, not even if she were to try, though at the moment Emilie

feared she did not even have the strength for that.

These reflections were also quickly joined by the strange, bustling man she had met on the road

later-for he seemed, in her mind, a man of great kindness in contrast to the child’s Father, though he also
seemed a bit strange tempered….she reminded herself as the image of his glaring beady eyes and grimacing

lips was forced back into her memory. She beat it back, however, trying her best to remember that this same

man had gone out of his way a bit later to bring her the much needed food that she was still enjoying…And

here, she pulled a morsel of the bread out of her pocket: for there was little enough of it that she might be

able to store the stuff effectively here, and she tried to concentrate on the things he had told her…Circus

People, she reminded herself, lived in the valleys around her windowless manor. She found herself

wondering whether they lived here too, in such a busy city as this one, though she ultimately decided that

they probably wouldn’t’ find the conditions very favorable…especially if they prefer the countryside as

they seem to. And having satisfied herself with these conclusions, she sat up from the place where she was

slightly sprawled on the pavement and tried her best to brush the sopping grime from her outfit, for it was

the only one she had and she didn’t wish to draw too much unnecessary attention to herself.

Since the morning she had fled the manor, she had lived on nothing but the bread and cheese the

short circus man had given her, Demetrius-she reminded herself, the man had a name after all-along with

the stray wild mushroom here and there; wild vegetables which turned her tongue sour at the taste and

usually caused her to be quite violently ill later. She rubbed her weary eyes and blinked at the busy city

around her; not entirely happy to discover that she still had no idea where the hell she was.

She had been meaning to ask the next stranger who passed if he might inform her of which city or

capital she was located in when the scent of hot-dogs; thick and juicy wafted through the air towards her.

She felt her mouth water, could feel the shaking effort of her shoulders as she moved along the sidewalks,

eyes-half closed as she followed the increasingly saltier scent of the juicy meats. Emilie, of course, had no

idea that she was smelling a hot-dog for she had never tasted hot-dogs before.

Her Father had always fetched her meals directly himself--and they usually consisted of

undistinguishable raw meats and the occasional side of a turnip or wild-strawberry. She had usually

devoured such meals wordlessly for she had learned before that her Father hated questions and that

questioning him over the content of her foods was a feat even more dangerous than questioning him on just

about anything else.

But this smell was something entirely separate; it seemed to possess for her a will of it’s own,

drawing her further and further from the comfortless edge of the sidewalk where she had been sitting to a

tall, wooden structure-painted white on all three sides with a large billboard of a sign hanging over it which
screamed in red paint: Classic New York Hot Dogs Here! Followed by a list of the various condiments you

could hope to adorn your “classic new-york frankfurters” with. Emilie eyed the list; her jaw hanging slack

as she poured over words she had never heard of before, let alone hoped to put on anything she could eat.

“Ahem.?” The short, balding man who stood behind the counter cleared his throat and leaned

across the edge of the counter. The boards groaned beneath his weight.

“ You gonna’ order or what, miss?” Emilie nodded, hungry eyes moving from the board above her

to the yellow-toothed man before her, who was smiling at her; his dark eyes moving down the front of her

sopping form and up, pausing briefly at her breasts. Emilie felt her cheeks heat and folded her arms self-

consciously around her, eyeing the man distrustfully.

“ Yes….I’ll take one ‘hot dog’ without anything else.” The man’s brow lifted, and his narrowed

eyes filled with skepticism.

“Alright miss, if that’s the way you’d like it then.” And he shuffled back towards the source of the

intoxicating aroma and pulled open a plastic lid, turning his head towards her as the steam gave off a

penetrating hissing sound, before he proceeded. He moved towards the left of the gleaming silver machine

which was spitting up globs of diluted fat. He removed a thick white bread-loaf sliced tenderly down the

center from a plastic bag and, with a silver pair of, what seemed to Emilie to be, a rather large pair of

tweezers, he plucked the sizzling meat from it’s spinning metal roles and placed it neatly in the open slot of

bread loaf. Emilie watched all of this with awe, her arms folded tightly against the cool September wind as

it blew through the slowly emptying streets around her.

He pushed the food across the counter, and waited, greasy palm flipped upwards, fingers

wrenching back and forth as he rolled his dark, pig-like eyes.

“Well,” he said “Are you going to stand there all day gaping like some kind of idiot or are you

gonna’ pay me what’s due of ya’?” The man eyed the young girl hungrily. Emilie felt a surge of panic. She

had not known that people “paid” for things. In her world, which until this point, had consisted of the

eleven rooms of the windowless manor, things were simply given and her Father had never explained the

rest of the world to be any other way. She felt her heart beating fast and hard, and her head began to spin.

A single tear formed in the corner of her green eyes and she sniffled, wiping the thing away with a

furious balled fist. How was she going to eat now? How was she ever going to eat?

“I could trade you,” the girl cried earnestly, her youthful vibrant eyes lifting with hope.
 “Yeah…well, I don’t want your trade. You pay up or you leave the food on the counter.” The man

smiled; decayed teeth glinting darkly as the sun shifted behind another cloud and disappeared altogether. It

seemed to Emilie that the world around her was getting darker and darker by the moment.

“Hey! Hey you!” Emilie spun around to see a boy, his tousled cow-licked dark hair standing on

end about his pale face. His eyes shot towards the greasy, balding man behind the counter and glared. The

man rose his hands up in the air in mock defeat and cackled.

“What is this, your girlfriend?” The man snickered and his eyes flashed playfully.

“ No, but I can pay for her just fine, thank-you.” The man’s dark eyes narrowed at this last retort

and Emilie could see his thin lips curl into a menacing sneer.

“And just who the hell do you think you are?” The man was leaning across the counter now and

Emilie could see the thin dark streaks of what little hair remained on his greasy, balding head spill across

his forehead. He seemed like an animal to her then; a wild animal which was not to be trusted and she

shivered to think that she had almost trusted him. She dropped the food on the pavement before her and

stepped back through the half-crowded sidewalk, nearly stepping into an elderly gentleman with a briefcase

as she did so. He yelled something, but she wasn’t entirely sure what it was that he had yelled. She knew

only that she was becoming desperately famished and that the world that she had entered was far larger and

more frightening than she could’ve ever imagined.

She found herself, for the first time in all of her life, beginning to wonder whether her Father had

been trying to protect her from something-if maybe the world itself were the monster she was supposed to

be fearing and in her childish ignorance, she had chosen to fear the thing protecting her from it. She felt her

eyes fill with tears and, quite embarrassed, she wiped them away with the hem of her long dirty, soaking

sleeve.

“You better get the hell out of here before I call the police,” the man behind the counter sneered at

Emilie, his dark beady eyes darting between hers and the boy which stood facing him-proud chest puffed

defiantly before him. The boy laughed; a booming, hearty laugh filled with good-humor. There was true

fear in the old man’s eyes now. Emilie could feel the fear emanating off of him in terrible waves. It was a

salty sulphur scent which most human’s, unless particularly sensitive, could easily miss. But Emilie caught

the scent in the air; it mixed with the scent of hot-dogs and she felt the urge to vomit. She could feel the

boy’s gentle hand on her sleeve. She looked up at him-studying his boyish cow licked hair and wide green
eyes. He was handsome, to be sure, and he reminded her of the prince’s in the story-books in her Father’s

study. He flashed her a brilliant smile.

“Where are you staying? I could take you home.” She could see the hope in his smile, the gentle

flash of kindness in his eye and she knew that this boy, whom she didn’t even know the name of, was a

good person who, however a bit presumptuous to assume she couldn’t afford her own meals, did mean her

well. She couldn’t have told anyone then, were they to ask her, how exactly it was that she knew it. She

had, after all, met exceedingly few people in the world who had ever truly meant her any good. . And yet,

there was something about this boy which seemed strikingly familiar to her; she felt the tears which had

filled her eyes begin to dissipate, she felt the clothes which had been sopping wet begin to dry a little bit in

the pale afternoon sun-light. She felt her heart beat with something not akin to fear, as it had been beating

since she had left the windowless manor two weeks before, but with…she couldn’t put her finger on it. It

wasn’t like any sensation she had ever experienced before. It left her breathless and smiling.

“Well, actually I don’t have a place to stay…yet. I plan on it, just as soon as I have a place.” She

shrugged her gentle-sloping shoulders and attempted a smile at the boy, who returned it eagerly with his

own.

“C’mon, I bet your hungry. I can take you to a place downtown. It’s where I started out, until I got

a job at least.” He shrugged his shoulders then and smiled. Emilie returned the smile politely and followed

him as he walked past the sweating, swearing man behind the counter, past the throngs of bustling

pedestrians and towards the down-town district with its faded neon-signs advertising “All you can eat”

buffets and “Open 24 hours!” convenience shops. Emilie had never seen so many lights before, and her

eyes-unaccustomed to the constant shift of light and dark had been aching for the past two weeks.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” Emilie blinked and looked over at the boy who was

eyeing her with un-hidden curiosity.

“Well, no…I’m from down-state a bit.” The boy shook his head. Emilie silently cursed herself,

wondering what it was that had given it away this time…she made a mental note to herself that she would

have to find a place to study up on the habits of people and how they were not easily assumed to be from

some other place.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t even catch your name.” The boy flashed another smile.

“It’s Emilie, and yours?”

 “Morgan.” He offered his hand and Emilie accepted it’s warm grip with relish.

“Well, let’s get you something to eat Emilie and then I’ll show you to “Mainchance”: they’ll help

set you up with a job and a place and just about everything else you’ll need.” She felt a surge of desperate

grief strike her heart as she felt herself being directed by the gentle tug of his hand on her elbow. She felt,

once again, that the prospect of being alone in this cold, busy world approaching. She shivered. . It had

been a long time since she had been near anyone as friendly or well-meaning as him, and the closest she

could compare his handsome charm and well meaning intentions with, was a short strange-tempered Circus

Man which she had met about a week before and she was certain that this couldn’t’ really count for much,

considering that his companionship had lasted so briefly. She felt the cool grimness of the city set in

around her once more; the harsh reality of things ‘as they were’ fall back into her aching bosom.

“Would you mind if I dried my clothes first?” she asked, and she could see the hesitance behind

his glance, could see that he was weighing the pros and cons of allowing her residence, even temporarily at

his place-though he tried to let the decision seem easy enough, mostly for the sake of being polite, Emilie

imagined.

“Of course! I’ve actually got a drier in the basement of the apartment building I stay at-it’s free for

tenants to use, and hell, they’ll never know that your dress isn’t mine!” And he laughed; a hint of red blush

entered his freshly shaven cheeks. And he turned, leading her instead towards his apartment-away from the

glimmering neon-signs and advertisements and towards the place he had finally found to call home.

Emilie felt a surge of happiness as she neared the towering, red-bricked building. She could see,

what seemed to her, a million twinkling warm lights emitting from a million white-framed window and the

sight proved comforting to her, somehow-though she wasn’t sure how or even if she could explain it to

anyone else were they to inquire to the reasons or even the feeling themselves…suffice to say that she felt

happy and truly excited to be in some dry clothes again.

 Chapter Fourteen

Morgan stared in disbelief at the freshly showered, clean-clothed girl that had followed him home

only an hour before. She smiled at him, again and Morgan felt his heart leap as his vision filled with her. He

didn’t think he had ever seen anything as beautiful: and he didn’t merely mean this in the way that those

hopeless classic romantics mean it, when they are trying desperately to woo a woman-for truly, Morgan

could never have said any of this aloud to her. He had always been a fiercely shy person, and furthermore-a
man of few words and fewer compliments. But then again, he had never really had so much to compliment

before.

He had never met Emilie before that day, and yet there was something that seemed familiar about her

unearthly pale body, her glimmering bright eyes flecked with purple and her long platinum blonde locks.

She was not only beautiful, he reminded himself, she was also kind, unassuming and well-meaning and just

about everything he had ever wanted in a girl, though he had never known before what those very qualities

were till they were manifested all at once before him. And still, yet-those eyes: those familiar deeply

speckled eyes which were smiling so kindly towards him…had he seen them before somewhere? He shook

his head as though to clear his head of such minute trifles as these and smiled towards her, bending to kiss

the palm of her hand and then thinking better of it as he righted himself and blushed.

He had offered to take her out for dinner, dinner and then-who knew-maybe they would really hit it off and

maybe, oh hell-he shook his head again and laughed quietly to himself. Emilie smiled, polite and puzzled

up at him.

“ I’m sorry-I’m just a bit out of sorts here, maybe that food will do good for both of us,” and he

winked and then felt ridiculous for winking as they made their way from the crumbling shamble of an

interior of his apartment to the hall outside which separated them finally from the world again.

Now Morgan was not the sort of man to believe in love at first sight, no matter how ‘romantic’ the

concept might’ve ever seemed. He had always prided himself in being logical, reasonable and sensible,

unlike many of those whom had grown up around him and so he truly wasn’t expecting anything to come

of this ’date’ ’just friends get-together’ or whatever the hell it was. He could still remember the swollen

footed pregnant girls who had swarmed his school, swearing that this boy “loved them” and was “going to

marry them”. Morgan had always scoffed at these girls--their glazed over eyes filled with sickeningly false

hope. He couldn’t help it then: it had been before he had felt that same sensation that all of those naïve,

hopeful girls before him had surely felt.

It manifested itself in the sensation of a million butterflies taking flight from the pit of his

stomach,

“Do I look okay?” Morgan blinked at the image of the pale girl before him; her bright green eyes

staring hopefully out towards his own.

 “You look…great.” He coughed into his closed fist and scratched the back of his head with his

other hand in what was quickly turning from a casual gesture to an awkward forced one. He smiled lamely

and blushed.

“I really appreciate you letting me stay here and all, at least until I can get on my feet.” She eyed

the floor nervously as she spoke.

“Hey, yeah…It’s no problem. I know what it’s like, you know…being new to a place and all.”

He cursed himself quietly as he turned from her; how could he be so stupid to let a complete stranger stay

in his house-even if the stranger is completely beautiful, inept and a bit like a puppy that needs looking

after. He ran his fingers through his thick, uncombed hair and stepped back out into the cool blustery

November day. The girl shivered in her dress and Morgan could’ve hit himself in the face for forgetting to

offer her at least one of his sweaters.

“Hang on just a tic, I’ll be right back,” he said and he ran back in through the hall to his apartment

where he commenced ransacking all the contents of his rather meager wardrobe, searching for something

that was at least without holes and less than five sizes too large for her as he continued scolding himself for

offering to let her stay at his apartment-it had come out before he had had the proper time to consider the

effects of his meaning or the repercussions of his words or the fact that this girl-who however pleasing,

beautiful and fun to be around now--just might ransack his place the next day.

“Yeah, I’m lonely alright…doesn’t mean I can just bring home every homeless girl in New York,”

he thought to himself and he shook his head. He wanted to ask himself what the hell he was doing or

thinking and why the hell he hadn’t taken her straight off to Mainchance as soon as she had dried her

clothes, but he found that the only response which met his question was as sickeningly close to the whole

love at first sight business as he had been contemplating earlier. Maybe he did need a puppy. Morgan

shuffled through a box of only half-unpacked clothes and eyed a red sweater thoughtfully before hurrying

out of the apartment again, nearly forgetting to lock the door before meeting her on the sidewalk outside-

quite out of breath, clutching the red sweater like a hard-earned prize in his hand.

He could see the girl was blushing slightly, and he could hear her giggling at his display of what:

chivalry, craziness. He didn’t care-he laughed a bit too and then offered it to her. She accepted it gladly,

pushing her swan like neck through the clumsy opening while shoving her arms through the thick knitted

sleeves. The fit was almost perfect.

 “ Thank-you, Morgan,” she said lightly, easily-as though the entire thing were a game of charades

to her and they set out down along the uneven faded stretch of gray pavement.

“ So, Emilie-how does a nice girl like you wind up here,” Morgan lifted his brows in what was

meant to be mock suaveness, but saw that the cheer had fallen slightly from Emilie’s good natured smile.

He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck with his sweaty open palm-a thing he had been doing

when he was nervous since he was a kid. It had always irritated his Father so much: Morgan grimaced as

memories of his Father’s wrath came flooding back through him-he only hoped that this girl had been lucky

enough to escape a similar fate, or better yet-had been lucky enough to have to avoid escaping anything at

all.

“ Oh well, just though that it was time for a change of scenery,” she answered finally. She looked

off distractedly towards the horizon of neon-signs and inhaled the toxic aroma of the various foods which

were wafting now from the half-opened doors of businesses.

“Yeah, me too.” Morgan nodded stiffly and pulled a cigarette from the front of his shirt pocket. He

propped the thin white cigar between his lips and lit its tip with his BIC lighter. The thing tasted like shit,

but so did everything else in this city.

“Well, what’s your story?” He stopped and looked over towards Emilie, whose green eyes were

fixed on him in unveiled efforts of uncovering a bit of him. He smiled and shrugged his stooped shoulders.

“Well-I’ve always dreamed about New York, y’know? The way kids are when they’re little-only I

was stuck in this little no-name town in Arkansas and I was always afraid of getting stuck there-never

finding my true calling or destiny or what have you--I guess there’s always been something about the

promise of New York: just about anybody can come here and become just about anything they want to.”

Emilie nodded appreciatively.

“I guess I just never wanted to be the kid that didn’t get out,” he finished.

“I could understand that,” Emilie said softly. Morgan peered at her through the darkening cover of

night sky and grinned hopefully.

“Really?”

“Well, yeah-sure. I mean, I guess all my life I felt a bit scared I would be trapped in the same place

too, and I’ve always wanted a bit more, you know? I want to see the whole world! I want to get a job,
maybe fall in love one day…” Morgan met her eyes in the deepening darkness and he smiled gently, feeling

the full effect of blush on his cheeks.

“Well, we’re here anyways,” he said, though Emilie seemed to have happily already spotted the

restaurant in question for she was bounding towards it: her lips stretched in a wide, happy grin. She turned

back a moment and flashed the same smile towards Morgan.

“C’mon silly-what’re you waiting for?” And since Morgan truthfully had no idea what it was that

he could be waiting for, he raced towards the door with her, and proceeded to have the best dinner of his

short life.

They returned that evening with full bellies and contented smiles-for the first time in his life, he felt truly

content and even happy to be returning to the tiny shit-hole of an apartment which was his own, because

hell-home was home and he had at least made a friend to spend some time with there; though this same

enthusiasm, which he had been experiencing all the way home faded a bit again once he had flipped on the

familiar hissing bulbs in the living room-whose pale yellow light bore down naked and ugly on the whole

place. He looked towards Emilie who seemed happy enough to be holding a few select cartons of leftover

Chinese and who also seemed, nothing but overjoyed to be at a place, once more, where she could rest her

weary feet. She plopped herself in the center of the hardwood living room floor and let out a belch.

“That was the best dinner I have ever had!” Morgan laughed.

“You don’t’ get out much, then-do you?” he asked lightly as he took the cartons from her and

moved through the hall into the kitchen.

. He stopped in front of the pale yellow refrigerator and opened the door, peering into the mostly bare white

shelves with embarrassment. Of course, the one time he would have this beautiful girl here, in his very own

apartment, he wouldn’t have a single thing to eat. He shook his head and sighed, shoving the half-full

containers on the top shelf and turned around slowly to see her standing before him. He felt his breath
catch somewhere in his chest; it seemed like the whole world was coming to a stand-still and only she was

there. His head was spinning.

“I really do appreciate you taking me in like this.” She smiled at him, flashing a mouthful of

perfectly white teeth. He could see tears in her bright green eyes and he patted her shoulder with an

awkward open palm and smiled. No, he had never met anyone quite like her.

“Uh…well, yeah. You can take the living room-I have some extra blankets in the closet, I can set

you up with a bed there on the floor…it‘s not much, but hell-it‘s a start” The girl turned from him and made

her way softly, nearly silently back towards the living room where she resumed her position on the floor.

The room where she sat was bare-the walls were white, save for the rows of tiny holes left from

previous tenants. The floor was “hard wood”-a perk, according to the landlord: an older woman with a

double chin and gray eyes who had informed Morgan of this with a skeptical gaze; as if to say, Are you sure

you can really afford this?

There was a tiny television which sat on the floor before where the girl sat now, her legs pulled up

to her chest as she yawned. It seemed to Morgan that the girl had not seen a proper place to rest her head in

a very long time. He wondered how long she too had been homeless, and furthermore, why?

What could’ve driven this clearly inexperienced, naïve girl from whatever safety or home she had

had before….unless, well: unless his first suppositions had been correct, and then he could understand her

plight more than even she. . He felt a pang of guilt as the image of his Mother’s worn smile came flooding

back to his mind’s eye. He could still see the worn, shack of a house that had her’s and his all of his life and

he wondered whether it would be her’s all of her life too. He shuddered and shook his head.

“No, I will get her out of there,” he muttered privately to himself. The girl turned her head then

and her bright eye’s locked on his.

“Get who out of where?” Morgan felt a jolt pass through him as she eyed him; he had whispered

to himself across the apartment and she had heard him perfectly. He wondered that anyone could have such

perfect hearing. He could see the soft, earnest curiosity in her gaze, and his shoulders relaxed slightly.

“Oh..just my Mother. I left home for the first time two weeks ago. It’s always been my dream to

get out, you know? To make it big in the big city, I guess.” He shrugged. “I guess I just feel wrong about

leaving her behind, y’know?” The girl nodded.

“ I know what you mean. I really do.”

 “So what’s your story, if you don’t mind me asking? I mean, I know you‘re from downstate-and I

get the sense that you didn‘t get out much, but you haven‘t told me your real story yet” He smiled and

prayed he had not been too presumptuous. He could see the girl’s eyes harden, could see her shoulders

tighten. She cast her eyes towards the ground when she spoke again.

“It’s a long story, probably one that could wait for another day.” He nodded and turned from her,

and headed for the kitchen. He couldn’t believe how pushy he’d been…to ask this poor girl, obviously

homeless and lost what her story was when she’d only been here an hour…what had he been thinking?

Then again she was in his apartment, and she had just asked him a rather personal question about rather

personal things he had been planning to keep to himself. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see

her again.

“It’s okay, you know? I’m sorry, Morgan. You’ve been so kind. I’m just a little tired, is all. I

haven’t had a good night’s sleep in almost two weeks time. Would you mind if I slept a little while?” She

smiled hopefully up at him and he nodded; cheeks still red with blush.

“Yeah of course, I’m sorry…you know? Sometimes I can get a little ahead of myself.” He went to

the closet and pulled out two blankets and made his way for the living room floor. He made a mental note

of ordering a couch or something soon so that she would not be forced to endure the harsh comforts of the

hardwood floor for too long.

“ I have to work the night-shift, but I‘ll try to be quiet when I come back.” He rubbed the back of

his neck with a nervous, sweating palm and felt a bit like laughing to himself: this was his apartment,

wasn’t it? What the hell should he care if he made noise when he came home. He shook his head, as if in

attempts of clearing his head of such inconsiderate thoughtlessness before turning to face her again; head

swimming with thoughts of her…of kissing her, of holding her. He blinked and fixed his gaze towards the

chipped white door.

“ I couldn’t possibly put you out any further, Morgan.” His name sounded like honey from her

lips. Morgan had never blushed so many times in a single day: he was frankly starting to feel a bit

ridiculous, like a school boy with a crush or something. He wondered if the girl could perceive any of this

in him, she seemed to, after all, have an uncanny sense of what he was feeling or thinking.

And then there was the predicament of how familiar she seemed to him-as though he had known

her always, in some weird way. Morgan had been scouring his brains for some distinct memory of her, and
had uncovered absolutely nothing. Maybe it wasn’t her at all, he mused, but something about her that struck

him. He eyed the bright green eyes once more, before staring off towards the distant clouded shores of the

city beyond.

“You’re not putting me out, it’s nice to have company every once in a while.” He smiled and

headed for the door.

“I’m just going to take a quick walk then, you just make yourself comfortable.” When he returned

that evening, she was sound asleep in his bed; pale face pressed to his pillow.
 Chapter Fifteen

Emilie had been asleep nearly half an hour before she awoke with a start to the sound of tapping at

the window near her. She sat up, clutching Morgan’s blanket beneath her chin. She could feel her heart

pounding in her chest; could feel the sensation of her breath as it caught in her throat and she pulled the

curtain aside.

There was a very small, and very young looking fairy perched at the edge of the windowsill. He

was wingless-which Emilie found strange in that she had always imagined fairies to posses wings or

something reminiscent of them, though truthfully she was not entirely sure that this thing was a fairy.

He was not beautiful, as fairies are inclined to be--Rather he was dressed entirely in what appeared to be

pieces of burlap stack stitched together on the sides. He had green hair; poking in every which direction, it

seemed and bright, slightly saddened purple eyes. His tiny fists were pressed against the frost-bitten

window as he howled something which was lost entirely to the wind around him.

Without a second thought, she pushed the white frame of the window up in hopes that this would

be the way that windows were opened for she had, quite truthfully, never opened one before. The window

creaked from the pressure of her palms and then slowly gave way-sliding up in it’s weather stained yellow

frame. She pulled her hands away, tentatively-praying the thing would not collapse on the poor boy who

was hurtling himself through the opened space now; purple eyes wide with terror.

He jumped from the sill and, spreading his arms as though to fly, he sailed quite like a paper

airplane to the edge of Morgan’s bed. Emilie turned to the open window, from which a gust of wind was

issuing now and pulled it closed.

She turned to take in the image of the strange boy before her, before smiling.

“Are you hungry?” she asked, for she could see that he was frail and though he was a strange little

being, she was sure that all beings did get hungry. The boy nodded and shivered as he adjusted the strange
garments about his tanned shoulders. Emilie held out her hand to the boy who smiled before bounding onto

her palm.

“I could eat a whale!” the boy said. Emilie smiled, for she seriously doubted it and headed for the

kitchen. The boy sat down in the center of her palm and smiled happily as the tiny, frigid icicles which were

hanging from the tips of his green matted hair and rather wet clothing began to melt in the warmth of the

heated room.

“So. Where are you from,” Emilie asked-flashing a polite smile for she was quite unsure of what

to ask the boy first, and what would be least prodding. The boy rubbed his chin thoughtfully and smiled.

“I’m from Morgan’s back-yard: I was sent by his Father to watch over him and what not and

well…I didn’t’ quite get the chance to ride in the back of his car, because I slept in a bit.” The little boy

shrugged his shoulders and blushed fiercely.

“Sent by Morgan’s Father?” she asked as she pulled the yellow fridge door open and peered at the

rather meager selection before her.

“Yes, and it’s rather pertinent you don’t mention me or anything.” The boy shrugged as he

bounded from her hand and onto the top shelf of the refrigerator.

Emilie cocked her head and stared in disbelief as the tiny boy proceeded to pull open the top of the

Chinese food leftovers and dig a handful of rice out with his rather dirty hands and, smiling broadly, shoved

the entire handful into his opened mouth.

“Why not? Wouldn’t Morgan want to know something like that?” Emilie asked. The boy helped

himself to another handful of the grains; his purple eyes flashing thoughtfully as he ate.

“It’s weird, isn’t it? I guess his Father didn’t quite think him ready for the Otherworld.” Emilie

cocked her head and stared in bewilderment at the little boy who leapt into her open palm, smiling quite

contentedly.

Emilie shut the fridge door and set the boy on the tiny fold-out kitchen table before pulling out a

seat for herself.

“The Otherworld? Where is that?” she asked.

“Believe me,” said the boy nodding his head and smiling happily up at her “You’ll find out soon

enough.”
 Chapter Sixteen

Marsius lay in the pit of his coffin, with its scent of death of age and he wept with all of his might.

It had been two weeks since his daughter; his one and only friend, companion and family had left him-had

deserted him in the middle of the morning…when he, himself, couldn’t dare venture into he light for fear of

instant death. He slammed his fist against the side of the coffin and wailed. The dank basement cellar where

he slept rang out with his cries. He knew he had been to harsh with her, had been too protective maybe…

He closed his eyes and saw the empty cobble-stoned streets again, as they had been so many hundreds of

years before…he could see the fading image of the girl who was walking from him now, her blue dress

rustling gently in the evening breeze in such a way that…ah: Even here, hundreds of years later and pressed

between two cold comfortless coffin walls, he began to feel the sadness lifting from his spirit…he could

almost remember her clear, pale face as it had been all those years before, bright blue eyes flashing

hopefully towards him in the dark of so many meetings before, well…he didn‘t want to think on that now,

nor did he have much opportunity too before there was a loud bang on the front of the door leading to his

basement and he was forced to sit up from his coffin, temporarily abandoning his memories for the harsh

cold reality of the world around him, instead.

He ascended the steep, uneven steps which led up from the cold, dank floor with it’s pools of

septic waste collecting quietly in the corners of the room. He raised his black, worn cape up around his

chin, forcing the material over his mouth so that he could contend with the smell-at least for a while as he

rose up towards the tall grim door before him, which led out into a comfortable enough sitting room…Her

sitting room, he felt himself reminded of for no known reason to himself, and he shivered as he threw the

door open. A tall, hair-covered man with familiar yellowed eyes which were rolling towards the back of his

skull as he tapped his foot impatiently on the floor, stood before him. Marsius nodded, recognizing the man

immediately by the name of Yazick.

“Hello Marsius, you rang…I came, what is it you need?” And here, the wolf-like man tapped his

foot against the cool hardwood floor and looked at the place around him with hungry, menacing eyes.

“You said that after that evening, well…you remember, I’m sure…” And here the wolf-man met

his eyes directly and nodded his over-large wolf-like head.

 “I do,” he said.

“Well, you and your kinsman said that you would be in league with me from here on out…me, and

all my kinsman…and I need a favor.” The wolf-man nodded, as though considering the endeavor for a

moment-his yellowed eyes rolling lazily in his hallowed skull.

“What’ll I get for it?” The man lipped his lips hungrily-eyeing the antique china set on the glass

coffee table to his left as though he could quite devour it all within a bite…Marsius couldn’t quite bring

himself to doubt that he could, especially after that evening so many years before….

“What is it you would like?” Marsius asked; folding his arms across his gaunt chest while eyeing

the wolfish man with a suspicious narrowed glance.

“Well…have you got any children for me to eat?” The wolf-man licked his lips hungrily and

rubbed his furred hands together.

“Not presently, though I suppose it could be worked out if you gave me ample time…how many

children would you need?”

“Well, what kind of deal are we working for here…what is it you need me to do, exactly?” The

wolf-man eyed the antique set once more, passing his gaze along the fine purple borders of the quaint

sitting area, along the ivory walls until his eyes paused on a rather ornate painting. He licked his lips and

returned his attention, reluctantly to Marsius who was beckoning him to have a seat on the settee before

them. The wolf man plopped himself down on the stuffy, ivory bench and rubbed his hairy back, grimacing

as he stretched forward, his large paws set evenly on his knees before him, as his spine cracked. Marsius

grimaced and sat opposite of him; glancing rather reminiscently at the tea set before him and wishing, for

the first time in a long time-that he might be able to partake of it’s pleasantries again some day.

“I need you to find Emilie, my daughter-and to bring her back to me, alive.” His eyes flashed as he

presented the last word, for he knew the importance of specifying the condition of bringing anything back

when it came to the wolf-men who were known to enjoy several humans a day, on a modest diet. The

wolfish man licked his lips and rolled his great eyes.

“Okay…fine, and in return you feed me ten of the plumpest children, me and an additional five for

whoever I bring on to help undertake my task.” Marsius eyed the wolf-man coldly.

“And just how many men do you plan to take with you,” he asked. The wolf-man sat back, bracing

his weight against his flat palms on the settee behind him as he gazed off towards the corner of the room, as
though thoughtfully considering just how many other fellow beasts he might need for the adventure before

him. Marsius cleared his throat.

“Ohh…probably just me two brothers: Ive and Igor,” he said-fixing Marsius with a devilish smile.

“Then I expect that it shouldn’t take the three of you too long to track her down…I want her back

before the week is closed.” The wolf-man considered this a moment before pushing out his furry, black

nailed paw towards Marsius while fixing him with a large grin.

“You’ve got yourself a deal, mate.”

After Yazick had quite gone, and Marsius was finally able to bring himself to descend the rotting,

uneven planks which led down to the stink-filled basement once more, he found himself considering certain

events which he had not considered for a great many years-mostly, for the simple fact, that he had had no

reason to do so before.

He could remember the night he had seen her next all too clearly.

The night, itself was clear-unusually clear and bright. Marsius looked out towards the darkening

evening sky with its pale glimmering stars and moon and sighed. The air felt chill in his lungs, and he

relished the coolness against his warm skin. The whole world seemed to come alive around him: the trees

took on a kind of color which they had not previously owned, the chirping of the crickets seemed clearer:

each sound sending out its own shrill harmony beneath the sweet summer wind. Marsius felt intoxicated

and closed his eyes here to regain his sense. He had been finding himself doing this frequently; especially

since he had ceased feeding on human flesh since that long-ago night and the child which still laid dead in

his mind; his corpse as fresh here as it had been that fateful night. Marsius felt a chill pass through him, felt

a strange wave of revulsion as he plucked yet another toad from the waist-deep weeds which surrounded

the tiny stagnant pond which had sat outside the village grounds for as long as Marsius cared to remember.

He could still smell the sulphur scent oozing from the thick, yellow-coated bubbles which rose up from the

depth of the terrible pit and burped rudely into the otherwise clean night-air. Marsius sank his fangs into the

thick, horned ridges of the animal’s back and moaned as the black ooze filled his mouth and slid down his

throat. It wasn’t much but, well…it was better than murder. He had shuddered there in the dark, casting the

frail lifeless corpse aside when he had finished and then casting a long, appreciative glance towards the
bright ball of white light overhead-it was the only light he had seen since that terrible night two weeks

before: it had been about the same amount of time since he had seen or heard from Victor, though he was

certainly leaving his trail in the form of the lifeless corpses which littered each half-opened doorstep of the

village. People were saying it was ‘the plague’ which had gotten them-and they had been avoiding each

other; beady eyes suspiciously turned where they had not real reason to be turned, especially since Marsius

knew the source of their agonies and they had nothing to do with any identifiable human sickness.

And just as he was reaching the height of his contemplation, just when the moon had reached it’s

highest point and it’s light was brightest, he saw the image of a great four legged beast making its way

towards the surface of the pond opposite of him. He could see the creature’s great yellow eyes and could

feel his heart seized with anxiety. He was about to stand up, to draw away into the shadows of the night and

pray he had had not been seen by the creature when it stood up on four legs and simply waved him over.

Marsius felt a surge of dread move through him as he tried to wipe the beads of blood which were

perspiring down his forehead. He could feel the tangy salt in their beads stinging his eyes. The wolf-like

man flashed a grin, filled with razor sharp half-rotting yellowed teeth towards him and moved quickly,

soundlessly around the edge of the pond towards him. Marsius backed up, away from the edge of the pond,

searching the ground wildly for any thing he could use in his defense…There were rocks, he considered

each of these, quickly-weighing the pros and cons of bending over and making such an obvious show of

preparing himself before the wolf-like man was standing quite before him and Marsius had no weapon but

himself and his wit, unless he was willing to bend down now and open himself to the threat of an easier

attack, which he was not. The wolf-man laughed heartily.

“You best not be thinking about those rocks down there,” he said, eyeing the same stones with his

devilish yellowed eyes.

“I tried that once…a long time ago, before I was made into a wolf-man, and well, this is what

happened…and I don’t suppose you’d like the same fate to befall you.” He flashed a toothy grin at Marsius

who shook his head as politely as he could manage; considering that he was half-heartedly agreeing to an

open insult towards this man and his type.

“ I need only ask you a favor,” the wolf-man said finally, placing a giant soiled paw on Marsius’s

shoulder. Marsius’ cringed with the sudden added pressure of the paw upon him. He could feel the blood
running in thin droplets down his cheeks and into the corners of his half-opened mouth. He relished the

sweet taste, momentarily before averting his attention to the wolf-man who was still eyeing him solemnly.

“ What?” Marsius asked, before clearing his throat. “What can I do for you?” The wolf man

smiled at him and added a couple of pats to his already aching shoulder.

“I like you, you know? Or I wouldn’t trust anyone else with such a mission…you do this for me,

and well…maybe the wolf-people would forge you an alliance of some kind…We have protection that we

can offer, you know? Against some of the fouler beasts in these woods, and believe me, there are many who

would be out for your blood if they caught your scent.” And here, the wolf-like man shivered, casting a

heavy glance over his shoulder in the direction of the heavily wooded forest with it’s solemn, gray branches

which swayed gently in the evening breeze around them.

Marsius grimaced at the large, hair covered man’s chill…if he were afraid of something in those

woods, what would that mean for Marsius. The wolf-man nodded solemnly at Marsius.

“And so…this would not be an unfavorable alliance for you?” The wolf-man smiled and Marsius

tried his best too avoid staring at the great mass of teeth again, for they were quite dreadful to look upon-He

tried to concentrate on the beast’s eyes instead, but they rolled so fiercely in the great dark skull that he

found his gaze averting from them also. He satisfied himself by gazing at the floor instead as he spoke.

“No…not unfavorable, what do you need me to do?” he asked. He could hear the quivering behind

his words and he hated himself for showing so much weakness; especially in the face of such a great and

terrible beast. Marsius shook his head and wished that his Father had been here to see this thing and tell

him still that monsters did not exist and that his Mother had been making it all up. Though something about

the memory of Marsius’s Father; with his great, furrowed brows and skeptical eyes reminded Marsius that

he might dismiss the entire thing as a dream later; for it is very rare that any man can be moved from the

things he adheres to believing so reverently. Mortals are weird that way, Marsius reflected shaking his

thoughtful skull.

“Well, you know that man my Brother mentioned to you last time…Victor?” Marsius nodded; the

wolf-man hadn’t mentioned the name so much as yelled it, and the meaning surrounding the statement and

the ill-harm it wished upon the strange creature had reverberated in his mind ever since that evening, filling

him with a kind of wistfulness that he might never run across him again and dread at the aspect of including

himself in danger against these beasts if he did.

 “ I need you to find him for me and bring him back here, dead or alive…I don’t really care-though

there will be a great amount of thankfulness from my brothers, I am sure, if you could bring him back alive

for us to finish him off.” The wolf-man licked his black, gummy lips and smiled fiercely.

Marsius felt a lump move from his throat into his chest….he knew it would be absolute madness

to decline the wolf-man standing before him, and yet…well, he couldn’t quite bring himself to knowingly

deliver a man-however terrible that said man-to a most certainly gruesome death.

The wolf-man seemed to guess the general direction of Marsius’s thoughts for he drew his paw

around his neck then, as though the two of them had been friend’s always and this conversation was a sort

of comfortable confidential thing between them that happened regularly. Marsius tried not to recoil from

the grimy fur as it touched the nape of his neck.

“ Listen…the man is not a good man, Marsius--He has killed dozens of my kind since he

somehow managed to find his way out of the pit dug for him…he killed several of our most defenseless

cubs, and hell-he burned your house down, we sort of were hoping that’d be reason for revenge in itself,

but …you seem like a decent man intent upon doing the right thing for everyone, so I thought I’d tell you

the whole story.” And here he patted Marsius’s shoulder and hugged him tightly to his heaving, fur-covered

chest. Marsius felt something cold and sticky matted against the pad of his fur there and he drew away, and

tried to feign a smile. He didn’t’ have the heart to inform the friendly enough wolf-man that the death of

several of his cubs didn’t mean much to Marsius, though the news of his burnt cabin being the results of his

knavish plots did fill him with a kind of burning in the pit of his stomach-He eyed the wolfish man and

wondered if it were not a sort of plot to draw him in to finding Victor for his own benefits: it seemed likely

enough, after all. The wolf-man was staring up towards the moon then, great yellow eyes fixed up towards

the sky. Marsius could see a single tear streak from the eye and down the matted extension of coarse, black

fur on his cheek. The beast sniffled.

“I’m sorry,” he said, wiping the edge of his great wet nose on his arm.

“ It’s just, I miss the little tots so much…and well, I would go after that bastard myself except that

I have to protect the rest of us, y’know? It seems I’m the only sensitive and sensible wolf-man left among

us…My brother is a complete mad-man and well, you saw the others.” And here he dropped to his rump,

the great cold ground around him shivering beneath his weight as he sobbed.
 Marsius gazed awkwardly around him, wondering whether it would be best to turn away from the

sobbing giant and allow him to retain his dignity, or whether comforting him would be a better course of

action…He looked towards the outline of the great sobbing wolf-man and decided that the beast didn’t

seem very intent on retaining his image as a tough guy anyways. He dropped down besides the giant and

patted him hesitantly on his great, fur-covered back. The wolf-man sniffled and with another wave of his

great paw at his nose, was able to clear up most of the dripping yellowed snot which had begun to form a

puddle on the ground below. Marsius grimaced and tried his best to keep his eyes focused on the pristine

image of the pone before him.

It had been a great long while since he had fed last, and the sight of anything-save a scrumptious

wandering child or woman had been filling his stomach with a kind of terrible nausea, which was currently

being made all the worse now by the image of anything as disgusting as wolf-snot.

“I’ll find Victor for you,” he said finally-cringing as the words left his half-opened mouth. He felt

a surge of astonishment at his own brash promise. The wolf man, however, seemed to feel a great amount

of pleasure at his words-for he abandoned his weeping quite suddenly and threw his arms about Marsius,

hugging his head tenderly to his chest as he grinned wildly about him.

“Really, you mean it?” he asked and Marsius shook his head slowly, confidently. His word was his

bond, he supposed-and he had a duty in upholding it.

 Chapter Seventeen

Morgan pushed open the front door to his living room and sighed heavily. It had been far too long

of a day, in his opinion and he was quite ready for a cup of hot tea before heading off to bed. He threw the

door opened and smiled at the image of Emilie sitting cross legged and quite happily on the center of the

living room floor. He was glad she had not taken his needing of the bed too personally, especially since he

had always been cursed with terrible back aches.

She waved happily over at him before returning her attention to the television, which was, to

Morgan’s amusement, muted. He smiled at her and shook his head.

“Don’t’ you want the sound on, Emilie?” he asked as he made his way through the living room

towards the kitchen table where a steaming cup of tea was waiting for him. He smiled…Emilie always

seemed to just know when he would be needing this. He gulped the sweetened, hot tea down and smiled

happily. He had never felt so content before; as though the world around him had opened up and all the

possibilities it held were shining out in plain sight before him.

“This thing has sound?” Emilie’s mouth fell open as she turned her gaze to Morgan who was

seated, quite comfortably on a fold out chair at the table. Morgan turned to meet her gaze and laughed

merrily.
 “What do you--of course it has sound, Emilie!” He rose from his seat, wincing slightly from the

stiffness of his joints as he made his way over to the television and adjusted the rather antique dial on it’s

front. Emilie gasped as the box broke into a dialogue between two news reporters. Morgan shook his head

and seated himself next to her on the floor. It never ceased to amaze him how strange his new room-mate

was, but well, and here he shrugged-he kind of liked that she was strange.

At least it made for interesting conversations.

“So how is it that you have never watched a television before?” He smiled at her and took another

gulp of his tea.

Emilie blushed and punched his arm lightly.

“Ow! That hurt!” Morgan winked at her before setting the mug on the floor between them.

“Let’s just say, I did a lot of reading as a kid,” Emilie said finally. Morgan blinked in surprise at

the seriousness of her expression.

“Me too,” he said as he ruffled her hair with the palm of his hand.

And despite all the aching in his limbs, the constant fatigue that he experienced from hours of slave-labor at

the local factory, Morgan realized privately as he pulled himself up from the floor some few hours later

after watching just about every TV sitcom on Nickelodeon after 12 am, he was just happy.
 Chapter Eighteen

Emilie was having the dream again; she could see the outline of the boy at the edge of her bed,

could see the gentle green eyes and tousled dark hair-could see his hand stretched out towards hers as she

tried desperately to rise from where she lay frozen in bed-his fingers were mere inches from hers, if only

she could stretch just another…..inch….

Emilie awoke with a start, her heart pounding as she attempted to focus in on anything in the dark,

unfamiliar bedroom. The sky outside was dark and the wind blew fiercely against the thin plaster walls of

the bedroom where she slept. She sat up from the bed, she had made herself in the center of the living room

cradling Morgan’s blanket around her shoulders, peering out into the darkness around her.

“Hello?” she called out, though she knew in her heart that he had already been to work that day.

Emilie had always had a keen sense of memory, and if nothing else-she could never forget the things she

cared to remember.

The wind howled viciously outside, sweeping the branches nearest to the windows up against the

windows so that they tapped constantly against the thin glass panes; rattling her nerves and putting her

mind ill at ease. It wasn’t that the wind in itself had ever frightened Emilie, it was more that the wind had

never reached her in the windowless manor and so she had never found cause to be overly aware of it, let

alone frightened. The walls where she had come from had been thick, well constructed loveless fixtures of
constancy which would not falter, even against the fiercest of storms. She found herself thinking of her

Father and she sighed. She hoped that wherever he was he would be alright..She chewed the edge of her

finger and gazed out across the dark room. It never occurred to Emilie how fantastic it was that she could

make out every shape in the dark around her despite the pitch black of her surroundings. Frankly, for it is

much the same, dear reader, when a person is born with twenty twenty vision and never takes into account

how truly blessed they are to be able to make out every color and shape with perfect ease and clarity. She

did not know that she possessed any significant powers, except…well, there was this one thing that she

seemed able to do but…it took concentration and usually wore her out pretty quickly.

She had first noticed the appearance of her strange, and for now nameless power, when she was

six years old and watching her Father at the dinner table across from her. He had been sitting in much the

same position, staring blankly at the flickering candle-light from a single pale stick for a long time without

speaking and she had been suddenly able to…well, feel what he was thinking was the clearest way to put it

for she could make out no distinct words, only this single pulsing feeling of perfect, undiluted sadness with

the faintest tint of this one word in her mind which stood out as though burned there on its surface:

Rosaline, it said and she had whispered it aloud.

She could still remember the sudden horror in her Father’s eyes, his grip, unbearably heavy and

strong against her thin shoulders.

“Why did you say that?” he had asked, and she could see the fear in his eyes, could see that it was

mixed with longing and dread and tainted with hope. She had winced from the grip on her shoulders while

trying to keep her face perfectly fixed.

“ I didn’t mean to upset you….Dad, I’m sorry,” she had said and she had seen the fear trickle from

his eyes and pass back into sadness. His grip slowly relaxed on her shoulders, though his eyes remained

fixed on hers.

“ How long have you been able to hear what I’m thinking or…feel what I’m feeling,” he asked

solemnly. Emilie shifted beneath his grip, meeting his gaze with her own.

“Well..the name…I heard was the first word, and today was the first time I felt like you were so

sad, but I felt little bits before.” She shrugged her shoulders and tried to go back to her “Grammar and

English Studies” book. Her Father had laughed merrily then, and she had seen real pride in his eyes.
 “That is your gift-Emilie. We all have one, and it’s all different for each of us…As you grow older,

if you harness your power, it will become stronger.” And he had smiled and Emilie, too had smiled

wondering if one day she could find a way to cheat her English tests.

Emilie was brought about suddenly by the sound of the front door creaking open and then closing

gently. She rose swiftly and made her way to the living room. The hardwood floors were cold beneath her

feet and her skin chilled instantly in the unheated front room. Morgan stood in the front hall with a pale

plastic bag clutched to his chest. His face was worn with fatigue, his green eyes under-lined with dark

circles. He looked as though he had been fighting a losing battle all night and he had come out only a bit

victorious. When he saw her near him, however, he fixed his tired face with an eager smile and ruffled her

hair affectionately with his free hand. Emilie smiled and took the bag occupying his other hand from him

and made her way quickly to the kitchen.

She knew the fairy-boy had decided to sleep in the cupboard tonight and she was determined to

warn him with her own presence rather than with Morgan’s. She smiled and shook her head at the thought

of Morgan discovering him in the cupboard…she didn’t imagine that he would take to kindly to the

intruder, since Morgan had previously expressed a fear of all things small and furry and well-this boy

seemed to fit that description. She pulled the cupboard open and poked the sleeping boy in the tummy. He

opened his eyes, staring wildly about him before clambering to the back of the cupboard behind a can of

pea soup. She tucked the groceries safely away before him and smiled.

She gazed around the bright, unorganized kitchen and smiled. She found the place charming; if not

a little unkempt, though she planned on taking care of that in the morning along with the preparation of a

bit of food for Morgan-to repay all the wonderful meals he had prepared for her since she had darkened his

doorway nearly two weeks before, she reasoned quietly to herself, for he had, truthfully, given her quite a

bit more than she had ever bargained in receiving…a home, a warm place to sleep-which she had not seen

in weeks and well, she shrugged, he was kind of a friend to her…wasn’t he?

“I brought home a bit of groceries; figured you might eventually get tired of Chinese leftovers and

mustard condiments.” He blushed fiercely and moved past her towards the kitchen, flipping on the harsh

fluorescent light-bulb overhead as he did so. Emilie smiled at his solid form as it stooped over in the

refridgerator, moving the few condiments he owned to the drawers where they could be more arranged. She

felt a wave of affection for him and the urge to thank him.
 “Thank-you,” she said finally. She leaned against the thin white-plaster frame of the kitchen entry

way and began to feel, not for the first time, that he was terribly familiar to her in some way…though she

still could not put her finger on when she had seen him before. It seemed to her that she had known him,

perhaps a long time ago in a dream or something….She blinked with awe as the memory of the dream and

all it’s details came flooding back to her in the forefront of her mind’s eye.

“That’s it!” she yelled, clapping her small palms together fiercely as she sprang up and down in

place on the tiled kitchen floor. Morgan eyed her, grimacing as he peered at the floor where she was

bounding quite happily in place.

“What? What’s it?” he asked, peering around him nervously as though he were quite expecting

some person to come bounding either through the half-opened kitchen window or the white front door,

which sat quite locked and sturdy in it’s place. He smiled at her, rubbing his eyes before placing his palms

on her bouncing shoulders.

“Do try to quit bouncing, we have some moody neighbors,” he reminded her. And he rubbed his neck

quickly with the center of his palm. Emilie grimaced politely-ceasing her bouncing as she pushed her hands

out to either side of her-as though in attempts of steadying her slightly dizzied form.

“Sorry,” she whispered, bracing the edge of her bony white fingers against the chipped blue

counter.

“I know where I know you from!” She smiled brightly at him, pointing her finger definitively

towards his shoulder as she spoke-enunciating each word as she did so.

“ Oh?” he asked, eyes widening as she spoke.

“I dreamed about you, before…You’re my prince charming.” She smiled and batted her lashes at

him, dropping her pointer finger to her hip which she pushed out now, as though in attempts of truly

swaying his quite steady heart. He eyed her quietly for a moment, bright green eyes moving over her slight

frame, still quivering with all the nervous energy pent up in her heart as it were now before his lips split

into a strange, awkward smile and he began to laugh.

He laughed merrily, cocking his left eyebrow up above the other while staring off into the

distance. Emilie could see the gentle unfocussed quality of his eyes and smiled, as though quite reassured

by this.
 “I’m familiar to you too, aren’t I? Though you can’t place it? I think we were destined to meet,

Morgan-you and me.” Morgan nodded his head stiffly, forcing his lips together tightly as he eyed her,

before bursting out into peals of unsuppressed laughter. Emilie felt her cheeks begin to heat beneath the

sound of his laughter.

“ What? It’s not funny!” She folded her arms across her chest, and cast her gaze down at the space

of the floor between them. She could see the chipped outline of one of the tiles and she ran her toe against

it’s surface, forcing all of her concentration towards the cracked surface of the floor to prevent herself from

revealing the tears she felt welling beneath her lids.

Morgan sighed and shook his head, touching his hand to her shoulder as he did so.

“I’m sorry, Emilie…you just, you have to know how strange that sounds! I think we’re both a

little tired, you know? Maybe you should get some good sleep, while I fix my bed up.” She could see the

effort in his gentle gaze, which was fixed on her own now as he reached his hand out to touch the edge of

her shoulder. Emilie recoiled from his touch and made her way defiantly towards the blankets which had

been stretched out for her on the living room floor. She sat against the pile of thin worn material with her

arms folded as she gazed solemnly at the white plaster walls which were solemnly decaying around her.

“Hey, Emilie….I’m sorry, I just-”

“I’m going to sleep now,” she said quietly from the living room floor. She could hear his bare feet

shuffling against the hardwood as he turned and slowly made his way towards the still opened bedroom

door beyond. She could hear the hinges of the door squeak as the door was closed behind him.

She laid, sprawled against the comfortless bare floor for a long time crying before she lapsed into

a rather uncomfortable sleep.

 Chapter Nineteen

Morgan awoke the next morning to the overwhelming scent of something burning from his

kitchen. He coughed and rubbed his still sleep-starved eyes and sat up, slowly, stiffly from the mattress on

the floor before him. He could still feel a pang in his heart from the wounds inflicted there by last night’s

incidents…He hadn’t’ meant to hurt the girl’s feelings; hell, what did she expect him to say when she had

told him…of course she had been familiar to him too, but were people really supposed to talk about stuff

like that? He squeezed his eyes shut, as if to block out the painful memory as it slipped through the open

flood-gates of his mind.

He had come to like her quite a bit, after all--and even if she was a bit strange at times, well: he

never meant to hurt her feelings. It seemed, he scratched the back of his head here and stretched his arms

out above his head-relishing the several clicks of his joints as they shifted back into alignment-strange, like

something which he had never been brought up to believe in, anyways. Sort of like his childhood friend;

the fairy-boy whom his Mother had smiled at the idea of before rubbing his head affectionately and

stooping down to say

“But you do know that’s not real, don’t you?”

“Not in my house,” he muttered as he rose stiffly to his feet. The floor was cool beneath his bare

toes, and he was thankful for the contrast between the swelteringly hot quilt which had been covering him

before and the coolness of this floor beneath him.

“Plus, at least my house isn’t burning down,” he said, laughing good-naturedly to himself as he

pulled the door open. He could hear the hinges creak and then-once the door had opened, much to dismay,

he found that he could also hear the constant, quiet beeping of the fire-alarm which had been sitting up

above the stove “for about twenty some-odd years,” the landlord had informed him; her beady eyes filling

with pride as she relayed this slightly discomforting bit of information to him.

He ran to the kitchen, feeling a surge of panic working itself into his heart when he saw Emilie

standing before the bronze pan on the stove; alive with what appeared to be-a rather large fire. She stood

with, what appeared to Morgan to be, an armful of his only towels-beating the flames frantically as she

wailed.
 He couldn’t believe her wailing had not awakened him previously; for it seemed more to Morgan a

kind of screeching more than anything else. He found himself reminded of the final cry a bird makes before

it is shot down from the sky-a kind of reckless abandoned squawking, it had seemed to Morgan then on his

first hunting trip all those years ago…He shook his head and shoved her, a bit forcefully-he knew, from the

source of the flames and then ran to his cupboard, frantically scouring the shelves with his quick glance for

what his Mother had always used when the cheap stove at their home had caught fire, which had been fairly

often in his experiences there, he recalled with a bit of dismay. He found a bag of half-used flour sitting

calmly in the middle of the bottom shelf next to the strange image of a little fairy-boy who was sitting with

his knees pressed to his chest while his teeth clattered in terror. Morgan slapped his forehead as he pulled

the white bag down by it’s heavy white string, tossing the powdered mess onto the increasingly large

yellow flames, which were licking the tops of the cupboards above the stove now and slowly catching its

lacquered surface. He hadn’t seen the boy resting his head against the bag of flour because frankly-dear

reader, when people aren’t ready to see a thing, they won’t.

He could still hear Emilie’s senseless screeching over in the corner of the kitchen and tried his

best to block the panic which was slowly rising up from the place where his heart had been beating only

moments before.

The flames simmered, sputtered and the largest of them succumbed to the increasingly charred

white powder on the bronze stove top and he felt his hair being tugged from the root, taking a full minute-it

seemed to him-to finally realize that it was he who was tugging so mercilessly at his dark locks. He

released the uncombed strands and hurried towards the sink where he filled the first available bowl with as

much cool water as the slowly dripping faucet would allow. He could kill the landlady for not having at

least the courtesy to change the fire-alarm batteries for him.

He poured the water on the flames and released a sigh. The fire sizzled defiantly beneath the

combination of powder and water, but sputtered and finally gave way. Morgan coughed as a torrent of black

smoke rose up in its’ place, filling his lungs, it seemed, with it’s deadly noxious odor. He coughed bitterly,

turning from the still smoldering stove to face the source of the fire itself.

She was bent in the corner of the room; her entire frame, which was very little considering how

truly petite she was, had taken to shaking uncontrollably as she sobbed. He could see her bright green eyes

fill with large clear orbs of liquid which, having blinked, danced in streams down her pale, round cheeks.
 “I’m so sorry, Morgan…I didn’t mean to! I was trying to cook something for you!” And here she

wrapped her arms around her quivering shoulders and wept heartily onto the tops of her knees, which she

had taken to pulling against her chest since she had first sat down.

Morgan sighed and dropped to his knees before her; feeling in that single instant, all the anger that

he had been harvesting in his heart melt away within him. He cleared his throat and gazed uncomfortably

about him at the smoke-filled kitchen.

“Umm…It’s okay, Emilie. Really…not that big of a deal, no harm, no foul, right?” She pulled her

head up from her knees and searched his eyes with her own. Morgan felt the heat rising into his cheeks

again as he met her gaze and held it firmly. He was determined that she should feel, at the least, that he

were being truthful and that he wasn’t angry-for in perfect truth, he wasn’t in the slightest.

What he felt, instead, seemed closer to something of affection for the slightly stooped, huddled

form of the girl in the corner of his kitchen. He patted her shoulder and smiled awkwardly down at her,

hoping that she would stop crying soon… for it stung a place deep in his heart and caused him to feel a

kind of simultaneous pain in his spirit which he could not define or give reason to.

“Hey Emilie…why don’t we got for a walk? We can get some breakfast together and…I dunno…”

He shrugged his shoulders and smiled hopefully over at the huddled form of the girl before him. He could

see the hope in her bright green eyes as she rubbed the tears from her cheeks with the back of a soot-

covered hand.

“You mean it?.” she asked as she dropped her knees from her chest and opened her arms to hug

him. He returned the smile and crumpled awkwardly into her opened arms. He could hear her heart beating

against his open ear, could feel his own heart beating back in response. It seemed strange to him, then in

that moment that he did not tell her before that he had seen her before in his own dreams--it seemed

strange, because he was no longer at home, and the rules of reality did not apply to this girl…this

extraordinary girl. The sheer excitement which filled her eyes as the words poured from his lips filled him

with a kind of satisfaction he had never felt before…It welled up somewhere in the bottom of his heart and

spurred a kind of nervous sweating beneath his arms.

“Well, let’s go get that coffee, huh?” he asked as he smiled brightly in her direction. Emilie

returned the smile to him and nodded, clasping her thin white fingers into the palm of his hand eagerly as
she rose with him. Morgan clutched her hand weakly in his own , and proceeded to rub the back of his neck

with his other open, sweating palm as the cloud of smoke began to thin around him. He could see a plate on

the plain, white folding table he had purchased at the good-will store across town…and he could swear in

the strange fog around him that he could make out the image of his name: spelled in what seemed to be red

ketchup.

Chapter Twenty

Marsius stared up from the hallowed out patch of Earth which he had dug for himself…Since the

night he had been turned into a vampire, and having found his home quite burned to the ground, he had

spent the earliest portions of the dawn digging out a grave for himself in the old cemetery beyond the edge

of town. He had been hoping that eventually the door to one of the tombs might be left open for him,
eventually--though he found himself quite contented enough with borrowing the inhabited coffin beds from

freshly dug graves until a better spot opened up for him…He had removed the bodies respectfully enough,

anyways-he reminded himself with a proud grin-for it had always been meaningful to him to uphold his

honor in every regard, even if he were a bloodthirsty monster…especially since I’m a bloodthirsty monster,

Marsius privately amended with himself. He figured that this condition, being particularly unhonorable

within itself was reason enough that he should have to compensate in all manners and aspects of his life…

the largest of which consisted of an adamant vow he had taken against ever taking a human life.

It was difficult, he had to admit--for the blood of most reptiles ran cold and was repulsive to his

taste-buds; though he bore it with all the patience he could muster, in what he hoped to be, faithful penance

for the life of the child he had taken all those weeks ago. Occasionally, when the season permitted it and

when there seemed to be ample enough of them running about, Marsius would help himself to the blood of

more satisfying prey…mostly bunnies, the occasional deer-when he was feeling particularly daring, though

nothing ever seemed to quench his un-ending thirst, save for the life of the child he had taken all those

weeks ago. He felt his mouth water at the very memory of the savory salty sweet taste of the child’s blood

in his mouth. He shuddered and struck himself hard in the face; what was the matter with him? He

wondered--Deer wasn’t all that bad, anyhow and maybe, when he felt he had truly cleansed his soul enough

to be considered forgiven for his crimes, at least by the higher powers he prayed to nightly for it, he might

move onto other prey. It couldn’t be much worse than hunting, he reasoned--and that in itself was never

considered a crime in any church he had previously attended.

“And yet…I wonder if all blood should taste so bitter still…” he mused, as he planted the edge of

his foot firmly into the Earth, pushing himself up towards the surface of the world again-which was lined

with evening dew, apparently. He grimaced at the moisture on his fingers and pulled himself up quickly-

until he was lying on a patch of grass in the old cemetery and staring up towards the clear evening sky with

it’s pale white moon which was rising still over the hills before him. He marveled at it’s cool white light-

strange to think that the comparatively harsh yellow rays of the sun had given him any solace before,

especially when compared with the cool white rays of the gentle stars above him. He smiled and for the

first time since, well-since he had met the young lady in the street two weeks past, he felt a surge of

pleasure at the prospect of being alive…no matter how ghastly the circumstances surrounding his life at the

present moment might me.

 But then the thoughts of Victor and the huge, blubbering wolf-man brought him about again. He

had to find Victor, he knew-for his word was his bond, and he had to bring him back to the wolf-men…

though he scoured his brain for methods of doing so which might alleviate the potentially very gruesome

death awaiting Victor. Surely something could be worked out…a negotiation. He clapped his hands eagerly

together as a plan began to form in the still waking regions of his brain.

He would take Victor back…and even deliver him to the wolf-people, but only on the grounds that

they would not harm Victor…significantly. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. It might work, he thought

eagerly, Yeah-or he might just get his teeth kicked in for even considering it, another voice-which all of us

do posses, it seems spoke up from the other region of his aching skull. Marsius shook his head, as though to

clear the two conflicting images of his success and utter failure from him and to begin his thinking anew.

He hadn’t a long time, however, to consider much of anything before he heard the rustling of

bushes near the entrance to the cemetery gate. He felt his body stiffen, and then he moved quickly-

gracefully, for he was not altogether human anymore and there were certain advantages to that, away from

the space near the freshly dug grave towards the side of a large tomb, which he hoped would conceal

himself enough until the sources of the commotion had passed.

It was then, in his quiet hopefulness that he heard the distinct sound of a familiar voice: it’s female

pitch which had once been offered to him in great kindness now seemed greatly distressed, raised even

against the other half of the commotion: a man, it seemed who seemed equally adamant in raising his voice

above her own.

“Just let me alone, Paul! And please try to consider me: I don’t’ love you!” came the slightly

hysterical cry of his own Rosaline some distance away.

“You say that you don’t love me, yet you lead me on with those soft eyes…I’ve seen the way

you’ve looked at me! I know you want it!” And here Marsius heard, what seemed to him, a slight physical

alteration in the form of the rattled gate which was currently baring both of their weight with all the

irritation of an old lady.

Marsius stepped out from behind the edge of the tomb, his lips pulled tightly back in what he

hoped was a menacing grimace. He could see Rosaline pressed against the outer edge of the entryway to

the cemetery and he could also see the man in question, pressed quite suggestively against her.
 “Hey you,” Marsius snarled. He could see the dumb, slightly glazed over eyes of the man as they

passed over Rosaline hungrily before searching out the source of the voice. His eyes finally landed on the

image of Marsius towering across the cemetery before an old stone tomb and he let out a screech before

running off, quite in the opposite direction of the cemetery, through the old oaks which stood towering

around it and out the other side across the valley. Marsius marveled that he could hear each delicate twig

snapping beneath the clumsy oaf’s foot as though it were merely a half foot away from his ear--it seemed

strange to him still, despite his extending acquaintances with these new found powers.

“Who is there?” Rosaline cried. He could hear the fear behind each word pronounced, and he

could see the shawl she clutched tightly about her shoulders in weak defense against the cool evening

breeze. He held up his hands, in what he hoped to be a plain enough sign of harmlessness before stepping

out from the shadow of the tomb and into the illumination of the pale white light which was rising still

across the sky. Rosaline searched him over, fearfully at first before her soft blue eyes filled with recognition

and she brought her palm to her chest with a faint smile.

“Oh, it’s you-the gentleman I met a few weeks back….what was your name?” she asked.

“Marsius.” He began to cross the distance between them in eager, nearly silent strides. She noted

all of this with a weary flutter of her eyes as he approached.

“Oh, well it seems my Father owes you quite a favor for rescuing me so…It was he that set me up

with that…man in the first place.” She smiled weakly, reaching out to touch the hem of Marsius’s dirt

clotted shirt.

“Oh, but you’re so dirty…and cold,” she said, shivering for emphasis.

“Can’t I take you home and offer you at least a warm bath--it’s the least I could do to repay the

kindness you have shown me.” Marsius felt his heart begin to speed in his chest, he could hear the rush of

blood as it began to quicken in his limbs. He wanted nothing more than to follow this beautiful girl back to

her home, and yet…he felt his hands quivering at his side. He hadn’t quite mastered his desires yet, and he,

in perfect truth, and much to his disgust, found himself desiring her flesh more than anything in the world

at this point. The image of his white fangs sunk into the gentle curve of her soft neck filled his mind over

and over as though it were a record which had broken. He licked his lips, and dropped his gaze to the rails

of iron spikes which separated them.

 “Are you alright?” she asked, and he could discern the clear edge of concern in her voice…her

gentle voice.

“Yes, I’m fine,” he said as he stepped back, away from her and the intoxicating scent of her freshly

washed hair as it assaulted his nostrils now…filling his mouth with watering and his mind with worse

thoughts than can be described here in these meager pages.

“I’m fine, just…you should go home-get out of the dark and be sure to hurry.” He could feel the

desire to cross the distance between them, to sink his teeth into her flesh, course through him-stronger than

he had ever desired anything before.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“Just go!” he howled, and the girl turned and fled the entrance of the cemetery with terror. Marsius

stared up towards the image of the fully-risen moon and felt the happiness, which had been so present in

him only moments before, completely leave him. He was alone in this world now: alone save for the desire

to kill whose presence seemed to never abate him entirely. He felt sickened by himself, and weary of the

young night as it’s hours filled with searching out small reptiles filed out before him.

It almost seemed that he could see the rest of eternity in this light; an inconsequential sequence of

one day followed by the next until everything he loved about the world had quite left him. He felt a chill

run through his spine, which had nothing to do with the cool evening breeze.
 Chapter Twenty One

Emilie sat on the edge of the very recently purchased sofa and sipped her cooling coffee. She

could see Morgan, as he was now: leaning quite contentedly against the worn white frame of the living

room window as he surveyed the world before him. The morning had passed by her so quickly that it

seemed it had not really happened at all.

She could still smell the smoldering remnants of the smoke from the kitchen, and the scent filled

her heart with a pang of guilt…She had only been trying to make him breakfast, but in truth-she had never

used a stove before and had never really seen a need for one.

All of her food had been prepared for her, by her Father and the stuff was usually uncooked.

Stupid Directions, she thought privately to herself as she folded her arms angrily against her

chest…they had told her she needed the damned oven, and she knew in her heart of hearts, even then-that

she should’ve just stuck with the way her Father had prepared food for her: it had always tasted alright. She

shrugged her shoulders and gazed across the distance of hard-wood floor which separated herself from

Morgan at the present moment and sighed.

 Why couldn’t’ she follow a simple enough list of operations? She could smack her head against

the wall for all of the irritation she felt, and yet…he had smiled, she reminded herself for few memories

seemed so pleasant or comforting as the ones filled with his gentle smile. She smiled as the happy images

flooded her brain…images of herself and Morgan perhaps taking walks, holding hands…she blushed and

propped her chin on the arm of the sofa.

“When did you get this, anyways?” she asked for it had occurred to her quite suddenly that the

thing had not been there the night before when she had been sleeping on the floor which it covered now

with it’s plush upholstery.

“I ordered it weeks ago, from a catalogue,” he said as he pressed his forehead against the cool

surface of the window; still eyeing the streets below. Emilie watched the light of the sun as it shifted across

the edges of his slumped frame. He had been quiet, in much this same manner for the gist of the morning

since she had nearly burned his entire kitchen down and she found herself beginning to wonder, not for the

first time, if he were actually angry at her for the incident. She wouldn’t have blamed him, if he were, and

yet she had hoped that he would’ve just been clear with her so that she could tell either way.

He seemed to guard his thoughts from her with all the care that her Father had taken on in the

recent stretch of years before she had left him…And yet, she recalled as she leaned back against the plush

comfort of the sofa, she had still found the occasional slip of enough troubling emotions coursing through

her Father’s thoughts to worry her…Had he always been so sad? She stared off in the distance, over

Morgan’s slumped shoulders and out to the bright glare of the yellow light above him. She wondered if

Morgan, too was not sad in some way…There was something about his eyes, or maybe it was the way he

shifted them from her gaze so quickly when their eyes met. T’was strange, indeed-she marveled, and she

had quite fallen back into other such private considerations of the oddities of this kind man when she heard

a loud, rather brash knock at the door. Morgan jumped at the intrusion of sound and bumped his head

against the glass pane of window. He smiled, embarrassed, and shrugged his shoulders. Emilie shook her

head and laughed--how could she have considered him being angry at her?

He rubbed his head and began to shuffle towards the door. Emilie half-rose from the couch,

feeling a bit awkward sitting when so much was going on at the same time.

“Do you want me to get that?” she asked, blushing fiercely as the words fell from her lips in the

formation of an embarrassed stammer.

 “No, No, I got it..” Morgan said as he threw open the chipped white door and let out a quite high

pitched scream.

For standing before him and blocking out all the light of the world beyond him, it seemed, was a

very tall and very hairy man dressed in what appeared to be a rather torn black business suit.

From where Emilie stood a few feet behind Morgan--she could see that the strange fur, covered

man was peering at her with large, wolfish yellow eyes.

She ran to Morgan, for frankly-she could think of nothing in that single moment, but procuring

him a bit of distance from the strange, wolfish visitor who stood grinning, it seemed. She could see the

rows of his yellow, pointed fangs and her heart began to speed.

The wolf seemed to her like something from a terrible nightmare; one which she couldn’t awake

from, tried as she might. For she did pinch her arms several times to be sure that what she was seeing

before her was not some strange apparition she had come to envision after falling asleep on the couch: for

even that seemed more likely to her in that single instance of terrible terror than the actual reality of the

situation in itself, as it stood clearly presented before her.

She yanked Morgan from the edge of the door and then slammed the white chipped wood in it’s

place with all the force she could muster, which wasn’t much considering the strange numbing sensation

moving down each of her arms now as she stood reeling against the back of the door. It seemed the world

around her was becoming dimmer, stranger; as though the light around he was fading fast.

Morgan stared dumbly at her for a moment before the sound of the pounding fists at the door,

which had begun only moments after Emilie had shut it so rudely in the creature’s face, seemed to revive

him, momentarily-or at least bring him back into a place where he found his limbs able to operate a bit.

“What the hell is that!” he screamed and Emilie shook her head dumbly, for truthfully--she had

never seen anything like it in all of her life…save perhaps for those deepest parts of our mind troubled with

hellish nightmares which come creeping to the forefront when we are sick or suffering from the delusions

of some terrible fever.

“I don’t know,” Emilie said numbly as Morgan raced across the living room towards his bedroom.

Emilie could feel the frame shaking against her back, could feel the force of the creature as it began to push

against the cheap wooden frame of the door as it groaned in protest. She could also hear the great, terrible

heaving of the beast’s breath just outside.

 “Let me come in, little piggy!” She could hear the snarling in the beast’s dry raspy voice, could

almost feel the longing in it‘s terrible voice. She let out a yell of protest as the faded gold handle of the

front door began to twist defiantly in it’s place.

“MORGAN!” she screamed “I CAN’T HOLD HIM OFF FOR LONG! HELP!” For it was true-

dear reader, the door was quite half-opened by the time Morgan re-appeared, sporting an aluminum bat in

his slightly shaking hands, which were gripped tightly about the handle now as he ran towards the door.

“Move, hurry!” he yelled to Emilie who, perhaps would’ve listened if she had but a moment to-for

the door was thrown open now by the grimacing beast who roared now as Morgan came into focus before

him.

“I don’t’ want any trouble from you, wise guy,” the beast snarled; it’s yellow eyes rolling in his

great hallowed skull. But before Morgan could hear exactly who it was he wanted any trouble from, he

swung the aluminum bat and struck the beast full on the tip of his nose.

The animal like man let out a howl of agony and kicked the chipped white door quite clean from

it’s frame. Emilie let out a scream as he barreled through the now clear open doorway, shoving Morgan

easily enough from the door-way as he bounded for her: his yellow eyes staring into hers hungrily, his great

pink tongue lolling across the black lips which were pulled back now in a menacing half-grin.

She could smell the heavy, rotten odor of the beast’s breath as he approached; she could feel her

stomach churn, could feel her heart beating so hard that it seemed it would either explode or have to stop

completely. She let out a hoarse rasp of a scream and ducked as the beast lunged for her, and crashed

instead-quite deafeningly-into the charred remnants of the still smoldering grill.

She could see the image of Morgan as he rose slowly, his face contorted in a pain filled grimace as

he picked up the bat besides him and raced across the living room towards the beast towering over her now,

his huge fur-covered paws reaching out for the hem of her dress as she ducked between his legs and

charged, on all fours across the kitchen.

She dodged towards the garbage can, pulling her weight quickly and swiftly behind the body of

the can as the wolf-like man howled viciously, his black dirt-clotted nails tearing savagely in blind strokes

through the air until he had quite turned a full circle, howling all the while-his yellowed eyes rolling in his

skull as he sniffed the air around him. It was at that moment that Emilie, feeling a surge of terror at the
prospect of being caught unaware by the beast of a man, threw the garbage can up in the air towards his

looming figure-catching him straight in the matted center of his furry chest.

Rather than seeming wounded or even insulted by the assault to his chest, which he was rubbing

now with the palm of his fur covered hands, he flashed a bright smile and tossed his fur covered head back

in the air, releasing a hearty dry and terrible laugh as he did so.

Emilie felt a surge of terror enter her heart as she surveyed this scene before her. The wolf-man

eyed her with his vicious yellow eyes and roared defiantly.

Emilie scrambled to her feet; her breath catching in her throat as she backed up against the edge of

the door-frame separating the kitchen from the living room. She closed her eyes and buried her head

frantically in her arms as she silently prayed, with all of her might and to whoever or whatever it was that

might hear her prayers. She prayed that the beast might simply disappear; that all of this might be a dream,

that hell, maybe all of her life so far had been a sort of dream and that the world itself which she truly

existed in was a perfect sort of paradise of a place…the sort she had read about in so many stories before.

It was then, perhaps-when she was in the heart of her most secret heart-felt praying, that she heard

the sound of the heavy aluminum bat come crashing down on the skull of the great beast looming before

her. She opened her eyes, blinking and only half-believing the scene which realized itself before her…

Morgan was standing over the unconscious beast, blood-splattered bat in hand-chest heaving as he stared

down at her on the floor before him.

“Are you alright?” He asked, bright green eyes flashing towards her own.

“Yeah…I think so,” she muttered, rubbing the back of her throbbing skull as she spoke.

“Then do you mind telling me just in the hell what happened?” Emilie sank back against the cool

plaster surface of the wall behind her and let out a deep sigh as she fixed her eyes upon him.

“I dunno, Morgan…I really don’t.” Morgan sighed heavily and dropped the bat to the floor. She

cringed at the clattering reverberations of the heavy aluminum against the chipped yellow tile.

She could hear the wolf-like man snoring as he lay there, his fur covered arms sprawled out

against the tiled floor. She could still smell the rancid odor of his breath…hot and mingled with something

which reminded her of the cupboard her Father had once locked her in all that time ago.

She could almost hear the cupboard doors slamming shut around her as she blinked and the world

around her came back into focus. Morgan had taken to kneeling on the ground before her now, placing the
palm of his sweating hand on her knee as he cast an uneasy glance over his shoulder towards the still

slumbering beast.

“What are we going to do with him?” Morgan asked, after a moment of strenuous silence had

passed. Emilie looked over his shoulder towards the snoring monster and shook her head.

“I don’t know where he should go, but I think it’s best that he be as far away from this place as

possible when he wakes up…” She paused, her mind buzzing as a line of possibilities stretched out before

her in the shape and form of so many ideas…She straightened against the cool plaster of the wall behind

her and brought her hand hesitantly upon Morgan’s. Morgan eyed her for a moment-green eyes flashing

with what she was sure was not altogether an unpleasant combination of warmth and concern.

He smiled and blushed a bit before pulling his hand from hers, and rubbing the back of his neck

with it as he gazed uneasily about him.

“I think your right, I think we have to disorient him you know? Oh God…but what if he finds us

again?” He clapped his palm against his forehead and closed his eyes. Emilie rose from where she had been

sitting on the floor and took to pacing the stretch of pale linoleum tile.

“Well…then we just have to get out of here, then…Don’t’ we?” she said and she nodded-more to

herself, it seemed for she was greatly lost in the abyss of her own thoughts, too lost to notice Morgan who

was eyeing her from where he remained sitting near the slumbering beast.

“Yeah…your right, but where should we go?” he asked. Emilie turned to him and smiled,

shrugging her shoulders.

“I have an idea…” she said “Which just might be crazy enough to work.” Morgan smiled and

cocked his chin slightly-for a strange kind of excitement had seemed to quite overtake his friend who was

rubbing her hands together gleefully as she kicked the slumbering monster on the floor between them to be

quite sure that he were sleeping.

 Chapter Twenty Two

Morgan touched his foot to the edge of the silver pedal and cringed as the gas pedal squeeked in

protest beneath the weight of his foot. He turned and eyed Emilie who was bouncing rather excitably up

and down in the passenger side of the seat beside him; her pale cheeks filled with a pink tinge of blush as

she peered out across the rain-streaked window beside her.

It seemed to Morgan then a curious enough reaction to getting into the seat of a car--for he had

truthfully never met anyone as easily excitable as herself and the sweet refreshing aspect of the smile which

lit her cheeks now as she sat, poised on the edge of her seat before him seemed to fill his own heart with a

bit of the ease he so longed for…especially considering the fact that there was a large, wolf-like monster

tied up in the bed of his truck now as he drove through the alleys leading out from the city around him

towards the entrance ramp to the highway.

He could see the gleaming silver railing sides as they rose up before him now-from the very Earth

it seemed, towards the disconnected bridge above it-which had extended across the city to the highway for

as long as time itself, it seemed or at least seemed to a mortal man such as Morgan.

He took a deep breath of the cool air as it whipped through the crack of the window besides him

and tried his best not to concentrate on the fact that he had, only moments before, completely abandoned

the first home he had ever rented for himself without even the slightest backward glance.

He sighed, shaking his head as a rather angry man in an expensive BMW wizzed by him and cut

him off as he sped out across the ramp and onto the highway beyond. Morgan could feel the anger burning

in the pit of his stomach, and then thought better of it as released a heart-felt sigh. He could feel his hands

shaking against the sturdy leather covered wheel before him, and he blinked-shaking his head fiercely from

left to right as though to clear the buzzing of the anxious thoughts which were quite invading his mind now

and preparing a host of complaints against all the unreasonable events that had taken place throughout the

course of his morning.

 It seemed like a million years ago that he had woken to find his stove burning and the strange,

homeless girl he had only just taken in a couple of weeks before using what few towels he had once owned

to beat the flames into submission before her. Even that seemed ordinary enough in comparison with the

rather heated physical altercation he had exchanged with the large, wolf-like man who lay, hopefully still

slumbering and neatly tied in the bed of his truck.

He eyed the bouncing girl in the passengers seat beside him and bit his lip.

She seemed so beautiful to him, even in that strange and hectic moment when the car would leap

over some odd protrusion of road, sending her blonde curls up around her. He could see the sunlight catch

and hold those fine locks. He shook his head and blushed; he had to concentrate on the road before him lest

he should get into some accident…which was the last thing he really needed at this point, he reminded

himself as he reluctantly averted his gaze from the glowing girl besides him.

Morgan felt his shoulders sink against the unforgiving frame of the driver’s seat as he fixed his

eyes on the road before him.

“Are you sure you know where we’re going?” he asked her, sparing a glance towards her bright

green eyes which were fixed on his own. She flashed a smile at him and nodded happily.

“Oh yes, a friend I met--Demetrius, he said to call on him if I ever did need help, and well--it

seems that I rather do need it now.” She shrugged her shoulders and half-turner in her seat to peer out into

the stained window separating the front of the vehicle from the bed of the truck. She seemed satisfied with

the image before her, for she turned around presently and wrapped Morgan’s too big sweater around he

shoulders.

“Do you know the address of his place?” Morgan asked. He could see Emilie turn to gaze out the

window and he waited patiently for he to either remember or inform him of what he prayed was not the

truth he was beginning to suspect.

“You don’t’ know where this guy lives, do you?” he asked, feeling his heart quite sink into the pit

of his stomach.

“ Well…I know that his people lived near where I grew up:they prefer the valleys and such

apparently--so they can be left to themselves and play music,” she explained. Morgan shook his head and

said nothing as he chided himself for having allowed himself to become caught up in all of this.

Dear Diary: he thought demurely to himself

 A week ago, I was becoming a respectable enough member of the world--I had a job, a

home, and was even beginning to save enough money for a bed frame, and now I am driving down the

highway with a homeless girl next to me and a were-wolf or something in the bed of my truck. How do I

manage to get myself into this, you might ask? Well-it’s funny that you should for I have been wondering

the same thing myself!

And here his rather cynical thoughts were interrupted by the girl’s sudden squeel of delight as she clapped

her hands together and announced

“We’re here! We’re here! I recognize these valleys.” Morgan stared about him and blinked his

eyes blankly, for it seemed that he had passed from the bridge and bustling city traffic and into a set of

gently sloping green hills and dirt roads rather quickly and without his notice…Seemed a strange thing to

miss, now that he thought on it. He tapped the brake with his foot and rubbed the strained lids of his eyes.

He was quite beginning to have a headache.

Though when he had opened his eyes and was surveying the world around him again, if for no

other reason that the sheer curiosity which had begun to lay siege to his troubled brain as he sat there in the

cramped drivers seat, he glinted for the slightest and strangest moment that he was in New York City

still….though everything about the place seemed to suggest a rural country pasture side…He could almost

hear the blaring of all the horns around him when he closed his eyes and rubbed the tender aching portion

of his temples as he leaned back into the seat and yet, when he blinked his eyes open again…here he

seemed to be: quite fixed in a scene from some far-ago time when the rich green hills around him lopped

off in gentle waves for what seemed to Morgan to be an infinite stretch of distance.

The sun sat high in the clear blue sky before him: it’s yellow rays oddly intense despite the Fall

Weather that had recently seemed to conquer the world around him, or rather-he reminded himself-for it

seemed a fit enough time as any to do so, the world he had been in: for this was clearly not the same.

He blinked and stretched against the driver’s seat and turned to see the Passenger’s seat beside him

quite empty. He sat up with a start, rubbing his eyes wildly as though hoping to clear them of whatever it

was that was obscuring Emilie from his presence now.

He heard a far off giggle from the distant lopping hills and pushed open the heavy metal door and

stepped onto the crusted over dirt path before him. He could see Emilie stooping on the green grass of the
top of a hill a few feet off. She smiled when she saw that Morgan had cleared the car finally for it seemed

she had been waiting for him a long time.

“Where the hell are we?” Morgan asked as he stared amazed at the clear sky around him, at the

building less horizon which stretched before him-marred only, it seemed by the occasional white cloud

which crossed it.

He could smell the rich scent of the Earth here--more fertile and moist, it seemed than any other

land he had ever been to. He found himself reflecting, for a moment only-for it seemed that there were

more pressing matters at hand to attend to, of the fields that had stretched off in his backyard in Arkansas…

He could almost remember the strange fever-like dreams he had been seized with as a child when he had

slept beneath the low, gnarled branches of the tree which shaded the grassy knoll overlooking the fields…

He could almost remember the bright purple eyes of the green haired fairy child that had been his one and

only imaginary friend…It did not seem strange to him at the moment that these visions should assault his

mind’s eye for the place seemed filled with the whispers of other childish whimsies…the place was, after

all, by ever count--the setting of a Fairy Tale land….

He could hear the sound of Emilie’s gentle laughter on the hill before him and he looked over

towards her. Her pale cheeks glistened with the light of the sun now, and her green eyes sparkled. She was

holding up a white daisy to her nose: giggling as the yellow pollen tickled the tip of her nose and cheeks.

Morgan turned suddenly, remembering the wolf-like man which was tied to the bed of his truck,

for it seemed pertinent in his mind-still ground in the reality of the world as he had known of it before-that

the issue of the monster be addressed and the body removed from his company quickly, before the beast

awoke.

He tentatively approached the bed of the blue Ford truck and felt a sharp cry exit his lips when he

saw the image of two very short men: clad entirely in periwinkle blue with matching top-hats to sport,

standing at the edge of the half-opened bed of his truck. They were leaning over the large wolf-like man,

who had quite opened his eyes by this point and was staring menacing out at the scene around him; yellow

eyes rolling violently in his dark, furry skull.

“Ay, haven’t seen one of these in these parts since The Great Depression, I reckon,” said the rather

short man on the left as he tipped the edge of his blue top hat back against his greasy head, as though to

better survey the scene before him.

 Morgan could see the curly red hair sprouting out from the surface of the man’s egg-like skull; it

seemed the color of the fire which had raged in his kitchen only hours before; only softer now that it had

taken its shape in the embodiment of this man’s sheep-like hair. The man turned and looked Morgan up and

down a moment; blue eyes scanning the image before him in thoughtful contemplation before he spoke.

“And what are you? Who are you? Is this your truck?” The tiny man leaned against the edge of the

truck and sniffed the air between them. Morgan could see the fine bristles of the man’s saw-dust colored

beard.

“I’m Morgan, and yeah-that’s my truck….what are you doing with it?” he asked, folding his arms

defensively across his chest as he spoke. He could see the furrow in Emilie’s brow as she stumbled down

the edge of the green hill and hurried over to the truck; bright eyes scanning the length of the bed where the

two men had taken to sitting on the legs of the slumbering beast.

She paused before the scene for a moment, crossing her own arms across her chest as she neared

Morgan’s side. Morgan felt a surge of affection for the strange girl as she passed before him, moving her

hands haughtily from her chest to her slight hips as she spoke.

“Hello, I’m Emilie and this is my friend Morgan…we’re friends of Demetrius, do you know

him?” she asked. The two men exchanged glances before the one nearest to them, and also-consequently

enough sporting the red beard spoke.

“Demetrius, The Demetrius?” he asked, furry brow lifting as he stared incredulously at the small

girl before him.

“Yes, presumably.” The two men laughed as their eyes met again.

“The King of The Circus People?” the other man piped in, lifting his corn-cob pipe to his bright

red lips.

Emilie hesitated a moment, before shifting her weight across her hips and lifting her chin high in

the air. Morgan didn’t say it then, for it seemed out of place-but he found her extraordinarily brave.

“Yes, The King of The Circus People; and what’s it to you two?” The round fellow who was

taking a hearty breath from his pipe eyed the red-haired man nervously. It seemed they had not been

expecting this.

“Well, I’m Wilson of the Gentry Clan and this is Bob of The Villagers,” and here the red haired

man waved merrily after having been introduced. Wilson shuffled nervously a moment before bowing low
before Morgan and Emilie, striking the back of Bob’s head as he did so-incentive, Morgan was sure, that

the fellow besides him followed his suit.

“And how do you know..our sire?” Wilson inquired after a respectable enough time had passed

and he saw fit to lift his head from it’s bowed position.

“Well, I met him on the road around here--and I have a bit of a situation, as you can see,” and here

Emilie nodded her head in the direction of the wolfish man, who was no longer snoring evidently…

Bob nodded knowingly as he squatted back into his sitting position on the wolf’ man’s hairy calf.

“Aye, that sounds like our sire…always taking walks,” Wilson nodded his head towards Bob who

moved up the wolf’s calf to rest on the juiciest portion of his slightly covered thigh.

Morgan was amazed at how clean the tattered suit seemed on the wolf-like man now…as though,

well it didn’t really matter though, did it? He mused, he was off to see some sort of King now.

He shook his head in disbelief…A king of circus people it seemed.

He was a long way off from home.

Chapter Twenty Three

Marsius stared bleakly around the dark over-cast city with its blaring neon lit signs and speeding

blurs of vehicles filled with yelling, hustling-bustling mortals and he cringed. The city was far larger than

he had ever remembered it being-granted it had been a full hundred or so years since he had been here. He

could still remember the faint sticky scent of the cluttered alleys; thick with human waste and well-dressed

hookers willing to sell their flesh for next to nothing. The sight had sickened him then, but not as much as

the site of the city as it stood now: gleaming, refurbished and highly civilized. Nothing ever changed with

these mortals: He could even still see the hookers in their proper alleys and street corners, just as they had

been all those years ago. Though they seemed less well dressed now. He shivered when he passed them, felt
sick when they tried calling over to him--He wanted to end their miserable, stupid lives, but then-he had

more important matters to attend to presently…like finding her.

She burned on his lips, in his memory, in the place beneath his eyelids when he tried to close them…she

even haunted his dreams now: He could see her luscious blonde hair, her deep blue eyes…no, they were

green-The two images began to melt in his mind. Marsius blinked fiercely and wiped the back of his lids

with a close-fisted hand.

“Rosaline,” he murmured. “Rosaline, why did you leave me?” He fell to his knees in the dark

stretch of narrow alley and wept bitterly while trying to concentrate, trying to remember with all of his

might why it was he was in New York City: what it was he had come for…He eyed the outline of a hooker

with hungry eyes: He could see her emaciated human legs, could see each fine outworking of veins which

made their way up each bone. He whistled to her: she turned, dumb brown eyes staring eagerly towards his

direction, a sly fox-like smile working into her red cheeks as he came into focus before her.

“What’re you up to, handsome?” she asked and Marsius smiled savagely towards her-pulling from

his pocket a thin, crumpled fifty dollar bill-which baited the young girl easily enough: he could hear the

crunch of gravel beneath her boots as she approached him, could see the cheap red lipstick on her child-like

mouth as she blew a kiss in his direction.

] “What’ll it be toots?” she asked, wrapping her thin arms around his neck-looking up eagerly,

innocently into his dark brooding gaze. So easy…it was like child’s play, he found himself thinking as he

sunk his fangs into her white flesh. She whimpered slightly, her boot-clad feet kicking for a moment against

his own powerful legs before she was still, her arms still loosely wrapped around his neck-drawing him in

closer as he fed: he could hear the steady thump thump of her heart as it slowed down until it stopped and

she was dead. Her blood cooled in his mouth and he spit what was left out on the pavement, dropping her to

the ground near the stain. He could feel the strength re-entering his limbs: he looked up towards the cloudy

sky, towards the thin sliver of moonlight which shone through the clouds, out across the tips of the

darkened gray buildings and slum apartments-out across the half-empty streets and himself…he even half-

imagined he could see Rosaline out in the distance, long trench-coat dragging across the uneven gravel. He

stood up--raising his arm out towards her, preparing with all of his might to yell her name, to call her over

to him, to beg her to come back to him: to at least consent for the child growing in her womb when he
realized…the woman resembled Rosaline only in the slightest, and that Rosaline, herself-was long dead,

had been long dead for nearly seventeen years: Oh bloody hell: the pain shot through his eyes once more…

He had been able to keep her alive so long, sustaining her frail body in the pit of his own home on what

little blood she might drink until she had quite withered away before him producing the single screaming

infant from her womb as she died in his arms--cursing his name and the child he had given her. He could

still see the tiny infant with it’s white flailing fists and bright eyes staring up pleadingly into his own as it

wept comfortlessly in its’ dead Mother’s arms. He could still make out the image of her face, turned from

his--her half opened eyes glaring at the decayed brick wall.

He had wanted to cry then; he could remember the sensation as it pulled through him, and yet…

there was something about the child which had given him solace, comfort: a kind of piece of her which she

had, mistakenly left behind in her reckless path to self-destruction. He hated her for leaving him now, but

he could not hate this child: for it was her in it’s purest form, and it laid their struggling for him, needing

his reassurance and only his….needing him and only him. Could anyone blame him for loving the child for

his own selfish purposes? Could anyone blame him for raising her up--for maybe feeling that in keeping

her here, in his home-alive and maybe even a little happy-he had retained a piece of Rosaline as well?

Could you, dear reader, blame him for it?

One cannot possibly imagine the terrible grief’s which were filling him now that she were gone:

He had loved her, he had loved them both in his own way--And maybe he had tried to keep her there,

against her will-but what was a child’s will beneath the will of a Father’s who feels he truly knows best: He

had only sought to protect her from this world, for it was a cruel world filled with much heartbreak: He had

only meant to protect he. He buried his aching skull in the crook of his arms and wept bitterly, wondering

why she had escaped his grasp and furthermore…what sort of hell she had been through since leaving him

alone here?
 Chapter Twenty Four

Emilie eyed the throng of men which surrounded her now: none of them could be taller than 3”2

and they were all clad in varying colors of circus-coats and top-hats. It seemed to her, suddenly that the

world around her was filled with their humming, garbled speech; their light and merry laughter.

She could see Demetrius among them: the only red-coated man in the entire crowd, she noted

privately to herself--for it seemed the only thread of distinction he held against the rest of them. There was

no crown to represent his seniority, no royal robes that Emilie could see and yet, when any of the short men

spotted him among them--they bowed low to the ground around him, waiting for him to pass before they

lifted their noses from the dirt.

The wolf man had also taken to surveying the scene around him; especially since the circus people

took no heed in being quiet or cautious around the fur-covered beast. His presence to them, seemed almost

to go without recognition or merit, well: to all of them, she reminded herself, but Demetrius who was

quickly moving to the front of the scene through the clearly parted path established for him by the bowing

men.
 When he had seen her, he turned his gaze towards her and tipped his hat; simulentanously

beckoning her towards him. She turned and flashed an apologetic grin in Morgan’s direction before

hurrying to his side.

“So…we did meet again after all.” The circus-man beamed at her and replaced his top-hat to the

top of his shiny skull.

Emilie tried to smile pleasantly at him; for truth be told, she was happy to see him again…and yet,

the state of present conditions surrounding their meeting vexed her greatly, for it seemed that she was

closer to the windowless manor again than she felt entirely comfortable with being, and then there was the

over-large fur-covered monster who had assaulted her only a few hours back, writhing now in the chain-

like ropes she and Morgan had taken so much care in fixing around his ankles, wrists and arms.

She feared the bonds would not hold him for long, however: especially when she remembered the

strength behind his blows on Morgan’s front door. The memory sent chills through her spine.

Demetrius seemed to gage some of the distress she presented however, for he put his hand

awkwardly at her hip-as he was so fond of doing in times of distress, she recalled with a tinge of happiness-

and patted her with all the friendliness of a slightly concerned and mostly embarrassed older brother.

“Yeah, don’t worry about him…the ropes won’t hold him for too long-but we don’t need more

than a minute to send his ass to Asia if we wanted,” and here the short man laughed merrily and rubbed his

full belly. He looked over beyond Emilie towards Morgan and tipped his hat.

“Forgive my poor manners--I am Demetrius, and you are?” he asked as he quickly bounded

towards the rather uncomfortable looking Morgan.

“Uhm, I’m Morgan: Hi,” he said, rubbing the nape of his neck with his left hand as Demetrius

approached him, was thoughtful for a moment, before extending his small, pudgy hand out in the distance

between them. Morgan dropped to his knee and gazed around him as he accepted the tiny man’s hand and

shook his wrist limply. Demetrius frowned and shook his head.

“No, no-that won’t do--like this,” he said and for emphasis, pumped his own arm and Morgan’s up

and down vigorously. Morgan eyed Emilie helplessly.

“Oh yeah…sorry,” he added as he pulled his hand away. Demetrius turned and smiled pleasantly

towards Emilie.
 “Now…where would you like to send this fowl beast,” he asked her as he rubbed his hands

together thoughtfully before him. Emilie considered her options for a moment before declaring-with quite a

deal of earnestness that Australia might be the best place for him: it was where Charles Dickens had sent all

of his villains off anyways-she recalled happily.

Demetrius nodded and beckoned the two gentlemen Emilie had consorted with earlier. They eyed

each other nervously before bowing and hurrying over.

“What be your will, yer’ grace?” they inquired as the two of them stuck their hands to their sides

in a single matched effort.

“Let’s send this fiend to Australia and then perhaps you would be so kind as to show our guests to

a cabin for the night--unless,” and here the short man’s eyes flashed with good-humor “You all had

somewhere else you needed to be off to?” Morgan shrugged his shoulders though Emilie smiled brightly

and said “Oh, no--We were actually thinking it might be best to hide out a bit, in case the wolf-man comes

back for us at our original location.” Demetrius gazed thoughtfully out at the sky for a moment as he

stroked his slightly stubbled chin and spoke.

“Well…this one will probably have a pretty hard time of getting back here ever again, I should

say…though he might have some friends with him against the pair of you if I know how the wolf-people

work.” He rolled his eyes and gazed at the writhing, spitting snapping image of the wolf-man before him

who had taken to trying to snap the fingers off of the closest circus-people who laughed merrily at his

unsuccessful efforts.

Demetrius shook his head and smiled brightly at the two men before him.

“Alright gents,” he said as took each of their hands within his own and closed his eyes. Emilie

could hear a few strange words mumbled beneath their breaths as they pressed their heads against one

another’s….and then, it seemed the very air around her was changing: she could feel a slight breeze move

across her cheeks, chilling her as the wind around them lifted and changed shape: She could feel a strong

gust of dry leaves assault the nape of her exposed neck and she shivered. The gust of wind was followed

by a strange sort of collision of popping noises.

Emilie blinked demurely around her and saw to her amazement that the sky was filling quickly

with an assortment of blue, yellow and green lights. She blinked, dazed momentarily by the fantastic view

of color before the world around her seemed to gradually come back to life beneath the sun; she rubbed the
backs of her eyelids and gazed at the place where the wolf had been lying only moments before, for it was

quite empty now. She could see that Morgan was also rubbing his eyes and had taken to staring dazedly at

the world around him.

It was quite like something from a dream, she found herself reflecting….a very familiar dream….

Chapter Twenty Five

Marsius had seen Rosaline from time to time in the empty corridors of the deserted village streets

since that evening near the pond; though she seemed both aloof and cold to him and his undying well of

affections for her: He was, indeed, beginning to regret not having allowed her to have her way with him: he

had, after all, only meant to do the gentlemanly thing by her and it certainly wouldn’t have hurt him in any

way, until one cool, brisk evening when she chanced approach him near a half-empty alley-way.

She had smiled then: her full red lips stretching grotesquely across her beautiful pale cheeks-

sending shivers through Marsius’s spine as she did so. He could still feel her hand: cool and bony against

his cheek as she spoke.

“Meet me near the pond tonight, I want to show you something,” and then she had started away

from him-slight hips swaying beneath her green evening gown. Marsius was both confused and enamored

by her: a mixture which was working steadily on his cold, palpitating heart in layers of uncertain, though

fairly constant affection. Was this another female game: a hard to get sort of thing? He prayed that it

wasn’t: Maintaining the respectful distance that he had was hard enough without her adding to it with her

feminine wiles, as women are wont to do…She had no idea what power she was dealing with then, Marsius

thought grimly to himself-for it was the truth: Rosaline De’Quip; a young girl, at the time-of only eighteen

years had fallen quite easily for Marsius; figuring him a handsome and mysterious gentleman-she had

played with his affections as any young girl of her position would be entitled to do and she had taken great

pleasure in it: not ever even knowing what dangerous lines she was trespassing as she did so.
 Marsius waited at the edge of the pond for her-the hours seemed to tick by with unbearable

slowness. The air around him was sticky, and buzzing with gnats and other various biting insects: all of

which approached his white, supple skin eagerly enough and then drew back rather suddenly when they

caught the scent of his odor. Marsius wasn’t sure exactly what it was, but bugs and other small animals

alike seemed to draw from his presence. He was meaning to ask Victor, if only he could find Victor…It was

strange really: Marsius had heard the young man’s frantic calls through the streets, over the hills and in all

the great crevices of the forest all of that evening he had disappeared…but none since. He half-wondered if

the young man had seen to fit to give up, or if other circumstances-perhaps more daunting than a simple

loss of will-power were preventing him. He shuddered to think of what it could be that kept a vampire at

such a distance and for such a great length of time…did other vampires…? He did not let himself dwell on

such thoughts for long, especially when he had other more pleasant things to consider: such as this fair

Rosaline. Would he tell her his secret? Would it scare her away or further entice her?

He wanted to be honest with her: he wanted to unload to her all the fears and inconstancies of his

young heart and yet….perhaps doing so would be dangerous, if not suicidal: who knew what she might say

or do? He plucked a toad from the ground and grimaced, sinking his teeth into its noxious outer coat as he

tried not to vomit-letting the dark ooze move down his throat and fill his body. It was truly marvelous how

briefly such creatures could sustain him: He would often only feel full satiation for mere moments before

the hunger spiked once more: burning and usually a bit greater than it had been before the last amphibious

snack.

He could hear the thick weeds rustling, and he tossed the varmint aside-eagerly waiting for what

he hoped would be Rosaline, but which was instead a heaving, cursing and very bruised Victor. His eyes

were wild, hungry, angry: His previously tarnished coat had become soiled, torn: a mere torrent of rags

about his thin, white skeletal frame. He was hissing viciously at Marsius who sat at the banks of the pond:

trying to appear to be quite unphased by his presence, when his heart was beating faster than a jack-rabbits

and when he was, in fact, very scared.

“ Where the hell have you been!” snapped Victor. Marsius could feel the vehemenance behind his

words, could feel the gnarled white bony print of his fingers against his shoulder as he sank to the ground

beside him-eyeing him with those same intensely wild eyes.

 “ I went away, for a while…No law is written that I must remain at your side after you have done

this to me,” Marsius snapped. Victor’s eyes widened and then he drew his hand back from his shoulder and

struck him hard across the face.

“Really? What about the fact that I fed you-freed you and gave you immortal life? Does that mean

nothing for me?” Marsius rose to his feet, staring at the impassioned heap of half-starved skeleton which

was still groveling about on the murky shores of the pond.

“Do you have any idea what I’ve been through?” he roared in the darkness. Marsius cringed and

looked quickly about him to make sure Rosaline was not near.

“Will you shut-up, please? I’m expecting a guest,” Marsius said. His voice was even, flat,

emotionless: just as he wished to maintain it. He could see that it was infuriarating Victor, who was rising

to his feet now: nostrils flaming as a devious smile lit the corners of his white, impish cheeks.

“A visitor? Really? Is it a woman?” he asked, and here his eyes widened with mock surprise as

Marsius nodded.

“Well…then there’s no reason we can’t both share her, is there? Especially if you knew what’-”

And he was about to finish telling Marsius exactly what he would or wouldn’t do if he knew what he had

been through when Marsius clapped his own white bony hand over his mouth, glaring fiercely down at him

as he spoke.

“ Oh…there are plenty of reasons I shouldn’t’ share her with a foul creature like yourself, but to

name just one reason: She is a friend, and she will remain unharmed so long as she is in my presence.”

Victor shook his head fiercely, freeing his mouth from Marsius’s grasp as he glared fixedly on his image.

“Oh, really? Well-we shall see about that!” And without a single word, he bounded through the

weeds and crouched. Marsius looked all about him, and had begun to wade through the waist-deep

specimen to find the childish vampire himself when he heard another set of foot-steps approaching and then

knew, judging by their brisk lightness, that they belonged to Rosaline herself-and it would be best that he

averted his attentions on protecting her and removing her from the side of the pond where god knows what

Victor was probably planning. He smiled at her, dark eyes flashing in the dark before him as she

approached. She smiled, her eyes fixed and puzzled on his own flashing gaze before she let out a single

whimper: her face frozen in terror, and then fell to the ground; quite submerged in the waist-deep weeds.
 Marsius let out a scream and was racing after her before he had seen the source of the lady’s

condition: He felt the top of a leave-encrusted, dirty head and knew it was Victor’s straight off. He kicked

it, fiercely and pulled Rosaline into his arms, away from the snarling, hissing vampire who was cursing

Marsius now for being a ‘mortal lover’ and a ‘regular old party spoiler’. Marsius couldn’t listen to him

now, however-not when the poor girl was lying nearly dead in his arm--her life draining out from two

needle-point entry wounds on her ankle. In a single moment of unsuppressed horror-Marsius realized that it

was the same artery which Victor had taken his own life through-he was sure the horror he was feeling

must’ve been expressed on his face now, for Victor backed up a few feet before breaking into maniacal

laughter.

“Ha! Ha! She’s dead and there’s only one way to bring her back!” He sang the words in a tuneless

kind of reverie, dark eyes staring blankly out before him at the enraged Marsius who was nearly crying now

with the helplessness he felt…he couldn’t let her die, and yet her scent was more overpowering in this one

moment than it had ever been before: it controlled him, it seemed, pulling his head closer to the dip of her

slender white neck.

“Yes…kill her, kill her and become like me!” Victor crooned as he bounded up and down with

crazed energy about the empty field surrounding him. Marsius pulled his head away; it was taking every

ounce of self-restraint that he possessed and yet he was maintaining it-while diverting his energy, instead

towards the white faced demon bouncing up and down and all around him as he shook.

“How do I do it?” he cried “How do I take her back?” And here Victor had smiled and craned his

ear comically out towards Marsius as he said “What’s that: you need my help now? Will you promise not to

leave my side again?” And here Marsius cursed the strange foul man and nodded his head vigorously “Yes,

yes I swear-just please…before she dies,” he said and Victor bounded towards him-pressing his cool white

nose into the crook of Marsius’s neck as he spoke “Swear to it, swear by your blood,” he whispered and

Marsius nodded. “Yes, yes I swear to it: I swear I won’t leave your side again, just…please fix her.” He

looked pleadingly now towards the crazed man who was his only hope now, he only prayed he hadn’t been

too foolish, too rash in making promises he could not adhere to…nor planned to. The man scowled at

Marsius and took her into his own arms, dipping the young maiden’s head back in the crook of his arm as

he began to sing-a strange tuneless sound which shook the branches of the trees in nearby fields and caused

the wind around them to howl in response. Victor looked up into the air around him, towards the half-full
moon; where he ticked his tongue muttering something about the condition of the sky and it being ‘less

than favorable’ before he proceeded to sink his teeth into his own white wrist and pressing the bleeding

vessel to the young girl’s half opened mouth as he continued to sing. Marsius could feel the strong breeze

as it moved in circles about him-he reached his arm out and braced it along the edge of the strong wind and

closed his eyes: he could almost hear the words of the tune…they seemed strangely familiar to him, though

he was sure he hadn’t heard them, not for the longest time and then-without warning-he heard the

sputtering of the young maiden as she coughed and stirred in Victor’s arms and eventually rose her head

from the crook of his elbow to stare out at the dark sky around her.

He could remember the fear in her eyes then, when she had realized that the very world around her

had changed and not all for the better. He remembered taking her into his arms, trying to hold her as she

fought and kicked and screamed with all of the might in her tiny body “What have you done to me?”

He had dropped her then, to the ground momentarily-for there seemed little else to do with her as

he scoured the land around him for the knavish sprite Victor who was bounding, like a crazed mad man

about the edge of the bubbling pond.

Marsius felt a sort of strange rage overtake him then; he felt it in the form of the anger, white and

hot and leaden behind his eyes, in the pit of his stomach which churned saliently as he bounded across the

tall weeds which crumpled beneath his swift, agile movements; in the form of his hands around Victor’s

throat as he bellowed

“You beast! You mad-man! You monster!” He could see the strange smile fade slowly from

Victor’s lips as Marsius’s grip tightened. Somewhere behind him, he could hear Rosaline’s screams of

protest as he shook the man violently, and then…without warning, he heard the man’s neck snap. He cried

out, involuntarily it seemed-for the noise seemed to have come from a place outside of himself as he fell

back against the crumpled edge of the weeds.

He could see the shape of a tall fur-covered man looming on the opposite end of the pond,

followed by the shapes of four others. He could feel the blood leaving his limbs as he lay crumpled in a ball

on the sweet, water-logged Earth below him.

“Don’t be a fool,” came the hissing voice of the wolf-man nearest him. Marsius looked up to see

the tall, broad-shouldered image of the wolf-man he had met at the banks of his burnt home. He felt his

shoulders shake violently beneath the heaving of another sob.

 “He’s not dead yet,” the wolf-like man hissed as he grabbed the slightly conscious Victor up from

the ground and, with a howl of victory which was met eagerly by the cries of the surrounding wolf-people,

he sank his sharp, yellowed fangs into Victor’s side.

Victor screamed as the pale white flesh of his side was torn from him: Marsius recoiled at the

image of the blood which poured forth from his side, for it seemed a rather irregular amount of blood for a

single man…. He could see the image of the wolf-men as they crept closer and closer: their great, fur-

covered bodies quite blocking out the pale light which streamed in constant gentle rays from the moon

overhead.

Marsius could recognize Yazick amongst them; his grayish teeth revealed in what was meant to be

a comforting grin. He watched the wolf-man tear Victor’s head clean from it’s spine. He cringed as he

heard the sound of the bones crunching between his jaws.

He could see Rosaline at the edge of the high weeded place: She stood staring at him, her once

bright blue eyes fixed on his in a chilling, terrible glare.

He could see the paleness of her white cheeks, the strange, unearthly sheen of her platinum blonde

hair as it shone in the night there-all those years ago.

He could also remember the feeling of the great, overlarge paw on his shoulder as Yazick yelled

with all of his might

“On this night: it is declared that this man is a friend to the wolf-people!” The other wolves

howled menacingly in reply.

Marsius blinked around him-surprised to see that instead of the strange green fields and creaking

shores of the small pond, he was surrounded by the tall grimy towers of man-made structure which rose up

all around him. He could smell her scent in the air around him: like traces of honeysuckle and human

sweat. The smell enthralled him, engaging his senses and encouraging him despite the increasing weariness

in his limbs. He knew that he should feed soon, but he wanted to find her first--he would find her and then

he would feed, he decided…just as soon as he had her within his grasp once more. He followed the tang of

her sweaty human scent across the edge of the red-brick apartment buildings and then through a poorly lit

stretch of alley-way: he could see the bridge he had crossed only a few night’s before stretching out against

the bleak horizon of the dark ocean beneath it.

 Surely she had not turned back…perhaps even to head for home? He felt a surge of hope move

through his aching, dimly-pulsing heart as he crossed the alley and made his way out onto the edge of the

worn graveled road with it’s silver rods of guard-rail rising up between himself and the huge exterior of a

silver framed fence.

Chapter Twenty Six

Emilie leaned her head gently against the side of Morgan’s slumped shoulder. He started, slightly--

she could see the blush fill his cheeks as he smiled before relaxing once more against the side of the

rocking canoe.
 She could still see the happy images of Demetrius and the forty or so other circus men and women

stretched out in happy leisure at the edge of the lake. She smiled and waved happily over at them before

returning her gaze to Morgan who had let his hand slump down on the bench between them.

She took his fingers between her own and felt a chill pass through her spine…almost as if; well, it

was meant, wasn’t it?

She could still remember the strange gypsy woman with her dark frazzled hair and too-bright blue

eyes as she smiled eagerly towards Morgan and Emilie only a few hours before.

“Come hear your fortune!” she had yelled across the throngs of happy Circus-people making their

way happily to and from work.

The woman was seated on a frail, wooden bench; slumped slightly to the left and she sturdied

herself against it with her right arm as she extended the left towards them, beckoning them forward. Emilie

had laughed lightly-turning her gaze towards Morgan who was blushing slightly beneath the presence of

her happy glow.

She could still feel his fingers tightly wound between her own as he shrugged.

“Let’s do it,” he said and Emilie had bounded happily forward through the thinning crowd towards

the woman who was rubbing her hands together now before pulling a pack of rather care-worn cards from

the wide patched pocket on the front of her purple robes.

“Please…be seated,” the woman had said, flashing her best and most courteous smile at the pair of

young lovers before her. Morgan and Emilie had smiled at each other, Morgan passing his hand awkwardly

around her waist as they lowered themselves to a clump of grass before the crooked bench.

“Now, for a very small price…I can tell you your fortune, for it seems the Gods have sent you in

my direction today for a very specific purpose.” The gypsy woman nodded knowingly; her bright blue eyes

wide with purpose as she shuffled the worn blue cards against the side of the bench.

Morgan had been thoughtful for a moment before pulling from his pocket a crumpled five dollar

bill. The woman stared at the paper for a moment, her brows furrowed in confusion before shaking her

head.

“Paper is no good here,” she said bobbing her head solemnly before them. Emilie could see a

piece of her raven black hair loose itself from the bun secured on the back of her head. She found herself

smiling at the woman’s intent seriousness before pulling a rather hefty helping of corn-bread from the
inside of Morgan’s sweater and passing the piece to the lady. The woman’s eyes widened considerably as

she smiled.

“Oh yes….this’ll do quite nicely,” she said as she slid a piece of the yellow cake between her lips.

Morgan had smiled and cast a side-ways glance towards Emilie.

“Where did you get that?” he asked, shaking his head and smiling brightly at her.

“From breakfast…I couldn’t’ finish it all!” she had said, poking Morgan playfully in the side as

she spoke for he was prone to teasing her about the rather meager amount of food she had been able to eat

lately.

The woman before them clapped her hands together suddenly; Emilie and Morgan jumped a bit,

both adjusting themselves against the grassy stretch of land before averting their attention to the woman

who was smiling as she laid out a line of cards before herself on the bench.

The woman’s eyes widened considerably as she stepped back from the line of cards before her.

She turned her gaze towards the pair of lovers and rubbed her chin thoughtfully.

“Soul-mates,” she had said before shuffling the cards back together in a neat pile at her side.

“It’s rare…considerably rare, but it does happen….but love did never go easy,” she said as she

folded her arms before her and closed her eyes. Morgan and Emilie had exchanged glances before rising

from the grass and making their way back along the road before them.

“Strange…”Emilie had said, folding her arms before her as Morgan peered thoughtfully about the

sky.

“Yeah…” he had agreed and the two had made their way down to the beach without another word

between them; for truthfully, what can be said when such strange and fated knowledge has passed before a

person.

Emilie shook her head, freeing a long platinum lock from the side of her cheek as she clutched

Morgan’s hand eagerly in her own. Morgan smiled at her and dipped his head against her shoulder.

Emilie felt her heart throbbing in her chest.

“Morgan,” she said finally after an eternity of silence had stretched between them. Morgan

adjusted his head slightly against the curve of her shoulder. She could see his bright eyes peering out at her

own.

“Yes?” he asked.
 “Promise we’ll always be this way,” she said tightening her grip against his hand.

“Just promise me you won’t change or disappear, or that I won’t wake up one day and find this has

all been some strange dream.” She sighed heavily as Morgan straightened up on the bench and stared

eagerly, purposefully into her eyes.

“I promise,” he said, clutching her hand in his own and as the boat dipped against a series of small

waves before them, and as the sun peeked out from the layer of white billowing clouds in the sky-she found

that she believed him.

Chapter Twenty Seven

Morgan sat up from the rather comfortable pillow he had been resting his weary skull against and

moaned as this same weary skull hit the top of the bunk before him. He could hear a cacophony of different

snores, which filled the room around him. He could also see, by the dim light shed in between the light

purple curtains that the room where he was resting in was filled with a conglamorative of beds: all of which

were currently occupied with a rather wide variety of creatures.

In the bed above him, of course-was Emilie who had been tossing and turning quite a bit herself

all the night before. It had been two days since he had arrived here…in well, wherever the hell it was he

seemed to be and he had spent the last two days in luxurious comfort: not that there weren’t chores,
apparently or that the Circus People lived in complete luxury themselves; for Morgan had taken note of the

variety of laboring people in the green farmlands which stretched outside their homes.

He had also taken note of the strange incident of the people’s clothing; for the men, it seemed-no

matter what profession, time of day or occasion-were always dressed in suits and the ladies in Victorian era

gowns, colored accordingly to their clan, for that seemed to be but one of the distinguishing elements

between the peoples.

They had all been courteous to Morgan, and he had become most recently aware that his rather

shrunken pitiful frame had taken on a bit more of a robust quality since he had begun dining with them--

and oh, that was an adventure all in itself.

He could still see the low oak tables on their sturdy thick logs for legs--all in rows of three or four

depending on the dining hall and quite stretching the entire length of the room for it seemed these people

enjoyed their meals together; and it had always seemed a hearty occasion to Morgan; filled with polite

attempts from the strangers nearest to whom he sat inquiring after the adventures he had, for they had all

assumed that his being foreign to their land meant that he must be an adventurer of sorts.

Morgan had started to correct them, once or twice before finally shrugging and submitting to the

fact that being an adventurer at least seemed more interesting than being a common human-being and so,

he would recount the battle he had shared against the wolf-man over and over; much to the Circus-People’s

pleasure, for it seemed they never did tire of their stories.

The Circus People were a people of stories. Morgan rubbed his eyes wearily and smiled happily as

he lifted himself from the sturdy blue cot and made his way towards the pale purple curtains which half-

concealed the world around him from his eyes. He drew the curtain back and stared out at the lolling green

pastures before him. He could still see the bonfire he had sat before only hours ago; listening with

attentiveness to all the strange tales passed around the circle by each member.

He could still see Emilie’s bright smile in his mind’s eye, not to mention the gentle rosy quality

which had taken to her cheeks most recently. He had spent a lot of time with her too, and well-that was

nice. He shrugged his shoulders and felt his own cheeks begin to heat.

Okay…so it was more than nice, he admitted privately to himself as he craned his neck to peer

beyond the edge of the bon-fire pit towards the lake where he had spent the afternoon before on the canoe
with her. He could still feel the heat of her palms against his own and the memory sent chills through him;

not at all unpleasantly.

He could still see the enchanted glow of her bright smile, could still feel the pressure of her thin

fingers against his palm as she pulled him from the canoe once it had reached the shore again, he could still

feel the remnants of the shivers which had passed through his hand and up his arm, though not entirely

from the cold.

He shook his head, as though momentarily abashed by his own thinking before rubbing the end of

his chin, in much the same manner he had seen the circus people around him use when they were deep in

thoughtful consideration.

He peered around the log cabin at the slumbering crew of quiet souls around him. He could hear

the gentle rustling of various quilts and the squeaking of mattress pads as they tossed and turned.

He had been sent to, what seemed to him to be a rather large and comfortable guest house-though

he and Emilie were the only people assigned to bunks. The rest of the circus people seemed quite happy to

share their beds, happy pudgy arms wrapped comfortably about each other’s waists.

In the past two days since Morgan had been here; he found that he was forgetting the outside

world around him and all of the care’s it had brought with it a bit quickly for his taste. He felt that he really

ought to be concerned about the stacking bills that were surely waiting for him in the mailbox suspended

outside his apartment door and yet…well; the world seemed to presently perfect to concern oneself with

anything so…ordinary.

He hadn’t wanted to ask Emilie when it was they would be leaving, or where-for frankly, he

wasn’t so sure he wanted to be leaving this place at all. It had this sort of quality about it: a sort of happy,

regular, predictable constancy which he had found himself beginning to quite enjoy…It sure beat the hell

out of worrying about where his next meal or pay-check was going to be coming from, that was certain.

But he had seen the growing concern in Emilie’s quick-darting glances: She didn’t speak of it,

Morgan wasn’t sure if she were afraid to-but it seemed that she too was beginning to worry about the

outcome of their situations after the Circus People begin to grow weary of their presence…They couldn’t

stay here forever, could they? Morgan smiled as he peered up at the bunk above his where Emilie had

finally settled on her side; he could see the relaxed smile spread across her rosy cheeks.
 He heard a sudden rapping at the opposite end of the cabin: Morgan felt his heart leap with fear as

he swung around, searching out the source of the commotion for he had taken recently to becoming a bit

easily startled since the wolf incident. He heard the door swing open, could hear the slight stammer of tiny

feet against the mat which rested against the entry-way and then he recognized the man entirely: It was

Demetrius with a look of solemn horror on his face.

“Morgan,” he said “We need to talk.”

Chapter Twenty Eight

Emilie awoke with a start as an elderly man with a crimson top hat shook her, a bit excessively-she

thought, from her sleep. As she sat up from the top bunk where she had been rather comfortably resting, she

was astounded to find that the usually quite relaxed atmosphere of the room about her was bustling with the

frightened yells and scrambling of the Circus People.

Clothes flew in every which direction, beds were upturned while others yelled that “Upturning the

beds: what a foolish idea” and Emilie was left, seemingly the only point of slightly confused stillness in the

room. She scanned the scene before her with quiet contemplation before squinting up her lips and letting

out the shrillest possible whistle she could manage.

The Circus People froze in place, their eyes filled with dim terror at this sudden, unexpected

interruption.
 “Does anyone care to tell me what on Earth is going on?” Emilie asked, trying to steady the

nervous quaking behind her words. The man who had woken her, who was standing nearest to the door

now, brought his hat down from his shiny bald head and let out a low sigh.

“They’re here…not just a few, we could’ve handled a few, y’know? But the whole colony of Wolf-

People, not to mention a few Tree-Folk if my eyes don’t betray me and believe me, miss-they don’t.” And

here he let out a tender, heart-felt sigh as a single tear riveted down his aged cheek.

Emilie stared numbly around her. The Circus People had taken to packing there things again, as

she could now discern this was what they seemed to be doing-though they seemed to move with a bit more

solemnity, as if out of respect for the poor soul who had just born the brunt of the news they hadn’t

bothered to deliver her.

“Where’s Morgan?” she asked suddenly-feeling a wave of terror strike her chest, for it seemed that

it hadn’t occurred to her till this point that he might be missing from the bunk below hers.

The little man with the crimson hat shook his head again.

“Went out with the warriors, I think miss. I saw Demetrius come to recruit him a few minutes

before….I think he should be preparing with the others on the fields…And Lord, I had prayed we wouldn’t

need to have another battle here again.” The short man fell to sitting before the closed door and buried his

head in his lap as he wept.

Emilie leapt from the edge of the bunk, wincing slightly as the full force of the drop struck her

ankles-thoough she had no time to consider this or anything else-- if her friend, one of the few she had in

this world was out in the fields preparing to fight, then damnit, she would be standing right alongside him.

She felt her hands shake as she pushed her feet into the worn soles of her boots and shuffled

towards the door where the tiny man continued to weep bitterly into his lap. She dropped to her knees and

delivered him a brief, though heart-felt hug before rising again and pulling open the door.

She turned a last time to survey the scene around her for truthfully-it had been the happiest she

had known, and to her amazement-every Circus person in the room was bowing low before her.
 Chapter Twenty Nine

Marsius could see the edge of the tiny village before him in a manifestation of tiny huts and log

cabins. He recognized the fertile grounds, the lolling valleys of deep green grasses because they were the

very ones that had encompassed the surroundings of his home for as far back as he could remember; or

rather, as far back as memory would allow.

He could see the faint glimmers of what seemed to be a hundred torches lit and aimed in his

direction. He turned towards the militia of wolf-men who were growling low and deep within their throats.

“You say there’s hundreds of children here?” The wolf nearest Marsius demanded. Marsius could

see the strange rolling eyes; two yellow marbles in the dark as they focused in on him.

“You can eat every one but the girl; the girl is mine.” And without a single word, Marsius began to

descend the great green hill on which he had been standing.

As he neared the village; he could see that the Circus People were arranged in battle formation

now: head’s bent revealing an assortment of various colored top hats. Marsius felt a smile tinge the edges of

his chapped, white lips.

So they had taken a liking to her too, then…Well he would show them: Emilie was his daughter,

his daughter…his.
 He could see a single tall man amongst the rest: he was a young, well-built man with dark, cow

licked hair and bright green eyes…They seemed familiar to him though he couldn’t quite place it. Not now,

not when it mattered so little in comparison to restoring his Emilie into his arms once more.

He spared a glance up towards the half-moon above them. He could see it was rimmed with red,

now: Strange. He had never seen such an odd color about the moon’s usually soft glow before.

He turned and eyed the young man before him.

“Just give me the girl, and none of you will get hurt,” he pleaded, eagerly: for he could see that all

of the men before him were prepared to die. He wondered what it was they were preparing to die for: for a

young girl that had happened to wander into their camps, here? He had no previous dealings with these

strange people…what could they want of his Emilie? Unless-they just meant to take her from him…He felt

his hands begin to shake.

“She doesn’t want to go home with you, I suggest you leave or you will get hurt.” Marsius could

see the bright flair in the young man’s eyes…could see suddenly, and with such perfectly clarity that he

could hardly reflect on how it was he had missed it before….this boy had stolen Emilie from him: yes, that

was it…had forced her from his arms with false promises. He could feel his heart begin to pound in his

chest, could feel the anger from two hundred years welling up from the pit of his soul, it seemed as he

screamed--and charged, head on for the young boy.

He did not know what it was he meant to do, for he could hardly understand a single thought

passing through his mind…it seemed that every strand of reason, every bit of contemplation had fled him in

a single instant of rage.

He grabbed hold of the boy’s head, tipped his head back and sunk his teeth into his flesh: relishing

the sweet and gentle release of his life between his lips. He could hear the clamor of cries from all around

him, could feel the scorching of his legs as a torch or two were passed along the hems of his garments, but

he couldn’t bring himself to care even of this.

Seemed meaningless now.

He could hear the wolf-men charging down the hill now; could hear the frightened yelps of the

Circus People, could feel the strange murmur of the very wind around him-but it seemed dream like.

Unreal.
 He could hear the boy’s heart pounding somewhere in his ears….could hear it slowing now, the

gentle force of his young life fleeting from his veins as he fed until there was nothing left, save the silence

ringing in his ears as he fell back against the ground.

He had never felt so alive before.

The first sound he heard when he had awoken from his strange reverie was that of his Emilie’s: he

could see her standing some ten feet away from the rather passionate battle which was now quickly ensuing

between the Circus People and the wolf men. He could see the tears streaming her cheeks as she cried “You

monster! How could you?”

He charged towards her with all of his might; feeling the power from the young boy’s heart

pulsing through him now with all the vitality he had ever lacked.

He grabbed Emilie around the waist, swinging her beneath his arm: so much luggage he would

have to carry back.

He took a final look around him; towards the screaming Circus Folk as they charged with

pitchforks and flaming bows and arrows towards the towering savage beasts he had unleashed upon them.

He almost felt a tinge of regret that so many would die tonight…

Almost.
 Chapter Thirty

Morgan awoke with the sensation of a thousand knives jabbing into every bit of his skin. He

opened his mouth to scream, but felt suddenly-and with a jolt of terror-that his mouth was sealed shut and

that every limb in his body had frozen in some strange corpse like paralysis.

He forced his eyelids open, for it seemed the only bit of energy he was capable of releasing at this

point. He could see Demetrius stooped over him, could see the solemn faces of the two other circus-folk he

had met on the road so many days ago, it seemed. He could see the gentle edge of concern in Demetrius’s

usually coy sarcastic glances.

He could feel a strange breeze around him as he fixed his eyes above the solemn, concerned faces-

towards the intricately detailed cabin roof of some room. He thought it wonderful that anyone had taken so

much care to engrave so many patterns for the eyes of only those who laid here, where he was laying.

He felt a jolt of terror then, for it seemed that a large piece of him was gone: a piece which, to this

point, he had not recognized as a piece of himself at all. Emilie.

He could feel the bitter remnants of tears pushing their way to the surface of his dry, scorched

eyes. The sensation stung, forcing even more tears forth. It seemed the world around him was wracked in

terrible, grievous pain and glances.

He wished to be away from it all….to see Emilie; to tell her….he could hear the gentle whispers

near his ear as he closed his eyes and passed back into the strange world of dreams from which he had

risen.
 Chapter Thirty One

Morgan sat up and blinked at the glaring white lights which were surrounding his bed-side. He

sought out the source of the blinding light-vainly it seemed, for the effort of lifting his neck even to peer

around him proved nearly impossible. He could no longer see the grave faces of those who had been

surrounding him before, though he could hear the dim murmur of their chatter from across the room.

He still felt as though his head were underwater and that the rest of his body had been somehow

dislocated from all sensations, save the occasional painful throbbing that he had become so constantly

aware of now. He licked his dry lips with the tip of his dryer tongue and coughed weakly.

He could still see the faint image of her bright green eyes as they peered out at him from the edge

of the hill…it was the last thing he ever thought he would see and well, he had been okay with that-

truthfully.

It would’ve beat the agony he was facing now; every breath he drew in took more effort than it

seemed worth, every moment of waking consciousness spent reveling over what it was that he had lost…

that he hadn’t even realized he had held.

He shivered beneath the sweat soaked bed-sheets that he was currently clutching to his chest.

“You okay, kid?” Morgan jumped at the sudden intrusion of sound in his weary, aching skull. He

felt his limbs groan in protest as he settled back into the cot.

He turned his head; an effort which took more energy and resulted in more pain than Morgan

could currently bare in his condition. He could see Demetrius sitting on the edge of a stool at his bed-side:

head bent over him in careful concentration as he spoke.

“We had to bring you back.” Morgan felt a chill go through his spine.

“Back from what?” he asked, clutching the bed-sheets feebly in his lifeless grip.

“From the dead, where else?” Demetrius took his pipe from the rather large, patched pocket on the

outside of his coat and brought the stem to his lips.

 He snapped his fingers over the snuff in the bowl and sighed happily as it began to smoke, as the

tobacco began to fill his lungs.

“I died?” Morgan asked. His voice sounded so small in his ears…as though he were far away from

all of this.

“Yeah, you died alright. Courtesy of a very overprotective vampire Lord….but what I want to

know, Morgan, is how it was we were able to bring you back.” He leant back on his stool; a strange smile

filled with knowing etched across his pale face.

Morgan shivered beneath the bed clothes as he swallowed an uneasy lump which was forming in

his throat.

“How should I know?” he asked, for truthfully he had no idea how it was he could’ve been

brought back form the dead; even if these people were capable of magic…was there any magic that strong?

He coughed and cringed as the painful process enveloped his fragile lungs.

“Did anyone ever tell you about…your Father?” Morgan sat up against the edge of the crumpled

pillow; he felt a chill pass through his spine.

No-one had ever told him about his Father…the man had gone missing before Morgan was even

born, before he had a chance to hate the man or love him. He shivered; remembering the saddened

crumpled form of his Mother near the edge of their wasted stove…their wasted lives.

“No…though my Mother did mention he had left her while she was still pregnant with me.”

Demetrius laughed merrily in his seat as he took another drought of the pipe. He blew a ring through the air

and then rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“Sometimes, Morgan--A man doesn’t always just leave. Sometimes, there are circumstances

beyond him which he must bow down to.” And here the man sighed, his drooped shoulders shaking slightly

beneath the rumpled coat.

“Morgan…I am your Father.” Morgan bolted upright from where he had been laying.

“You….are, my Dad? You!!!??? You left my Mother!” He raised his fists about him as a single

angry tear coursed his sickly cheek.

“No son…I didn’t leave your Mother: she left me.” And here Demetrius sighed heavily and wiped

a tear from the corner of his eye. He sighed and stared vacantly out at the wall beyond Morgan’s bed.
 Morgan could feel his quick beating heart begin to slow. He sat back against the edge of his

crumpled pillow and sighed.

“You didn’t think magic can bring back just any dead creature, did you?” Demetrius shook his

head; a strange tinge of wisdom mixed with sadness filled his gaze.

“I didn’t know…” Morgan whispered. He could see the frail image of the strange man before him,

could feel the pressure of the man’s hand against his knee as the two of them sat in silence.

“Well, I had a feeling Morgan--it isn’t every man that can see his way to us, y’know? The

otherworld.” Morgan sighed heavily; he could remember the strange and sudden change of scenery as the

bridge he had been traveling upon disappeared from him and was replaced with wherever it was he had

come to call home in the last days.

“What about Emilie?” he asked finally, for it was the question which had been burning on the edge

of his tongue since he had awakened.

“You’ll find her, Morgan…when you’re ready to find her.” Demetrius nodded his head, tipped his

top hat off before him and dropped to the floor some two feet down. Morgan listened to the man, who was

his Father-he supposed since all other logic had gone from this world-shuffle wordlessly from the room

towards the wide oak door with it’s rather aged golden handle shining out in the half-dark towards him.

“What does that mean? I’ll find her when I’m ready?” Demetrius turned, clapping his hands

together. Morgan could see the room around him dim, could feel the warm and wonderful sensations of

sleep calling him back from this world.

“When you’re ready to find her, Morgan…you will.” And without another word, the short, slightly

slumped figure of the man pulled the golden handle open and shut the door behind him.

Morgan wanted to resist sleep--too much had happened without explanation, too many words had

passed without the slightest grain of logic lodged anywhere between them, but sleep is a strange thing, dear

reader-and when it calls us forth from the world of the living into the hazy world where reality and

unreality merge together in a strange landscape of possibility-we must follow it there….

 Epilogue:

Morgan blinked in disbelief as the bridge he had been driving over only days before came into

focus. He could see a yellow taxi cab hurtling itself along the edge of the weather-stained road, missing him

by a fraction of an inch. He let out a sigh of relief as he made his way towards the guard-rails along the

farthest region of the highway.

The air was cold; bitterly cold. Morgan had not remembered the temperature ever having dropped

so quickly before in all of his life. But then, his life wasn’t altogether normal anymore, was it?
 He could hear a slight popping sound behind him: He shivered as another gust of cold, December

air blew over his thin, ill-clad frame. He turned, just in time to see the image of Demetrius appearing in

mid-air. He dusted off the top of his rather soiled, bent hat and grinned widely at Morgan, who was shaking

his head in amazement as another series of popping sounds ensued.

He blinked, rubbing his eyes as two more Circus People appeared behind Demetrius; both of

which were adjusting the tales of their rumpled purple coats.

“What are you all doing here?” Morgan asked; for truthfully, when he had awoken near the

bustling New York City highway with a yellow cab hurtling itself towards him, he had quite begun to

believe that perhaps he had been under some grand delusion…perhaps a dream had seized his over-stressed

brain and that maybe, well-Emilie was back at the apartment cooking some strange concoction that would

hopefully not burn his apartment down.

“You didn’t think we were going to let you fight the big bad vampire Lord and his army of wolves

alone, did you?” Demetrius winked heartily as he took Morgan by the hand and led him forth--through the

bustling New York City highway and into the strange dimension of half-reality with which all dreams are

cast.

The End