“Drake,” I try to stop him again. This is beyond “I love you” intimate. This is really, really taboo-intimate.
And I am scared for him.
And – if I’m honest – scared for myself. Because this “I love you” thing is still not fully-processed in my head, even though my heart has it under control. Maybe. Sort-of.
“Please, Claire,” he pulls his hand down, “I want to do this.”
“All right,” I turn myself around and get under the covers. If I’m going to get a bedtime story, I might as well go whole-hog. Drake gives me a relieved smile and I pat the bed next to me, inviting him to cuddle.
He climbs in and wraps his arms around me. I snuggle against his chest and listen to his heart beating and his slow breathing as he gathers his thoughts.
“I lived in a small but prosperous village along a trade route in what would now be considered Jordan. My father was an innkeeper and all of the caravans stopped there on their ways to and fro. I had twin brother – Nabal – who was destined to take our father’s place when he died. He was born two minutes ahead of me, but primogeniture was the law. This was very, very far back in the day, Claire,” he sighs and strokes my hand, “And even though it’s changed now – auguries were cast when a child was born back then.”
“Like animal guts?” I wrinkle my nose.
“Yes,” he chuckles, “My brother was born to have a blessed life. First-born, he would inherit everything – of course. But even beyond that, he had God’s blessing on him. I – however – didn’t,” he stops and gives a rueful smile.
“You believe that crap?” I ask him.
“My parents did. My village did,” he gives a sad look, “I was destined to do a great evil.”
I frown and kiss his forehead, “You really don’t have to tell me,” I whisper, trailing my hand down to his nude chest in hopes of distracting him.
“I do, angel,” he pulls my hand up and gives me a soft kiss, “You deserve to know the truth. So because of our prophesies, Nabal could do no wrong. He was the golden child. And no matter how hard I tried – how good I was – everyone kept holding their breath for the day that I would unleash my evil on our village.
“I thought if I was devout – if I served God and never went against Him, I might be able to change my destiny. I went to temple every day. I prayed. I kept all of the Sabbats. My brother, however, wasn’t nearly as pure as I was. He was never interested in girls, but I knew about his very clandestine ways with some of the travelers who stayed at our inn. I never told anyone – he would have been sentenced to death. But I begged him to stop and I prayed for him constantly. I studied the Torah every chance I got – both to help him and to find some way to lift the curse I was under. I wanted to be a Rabbi.”
“Wait – you’re Jewish?” I ask him.
He chuckles and bends his head down to whisper in my ear, “I told you I’m always in my true form when I’m around you. Bris-proof and all. I don’t remember you complaining.”
“Get back to your story,” I blush, which makes him chuckle deeper.
“I had been in love with the daughter of our Rabbi ever since I could remember and often asked my father – when we were of age – if he would negotiate our marriage. Back then, marriages were arranged for social and financial gain and love was rarely a factor. My father always told me he would see what he could do, but when the time came, the Rabbi thought his Lydia was too valuable to be given to a doomed man. Instead, she was married to my brother.
“Lydia the entire village celebrated. Except for me, of course – and Nabal. I tried hard to be happy for them, but my heart was tortured. I thought for sure that this jealousy would be my downfall, so I prayed harder and more, begging God for strength to put it behind me.
“And he answered my prayer – or I thought he did,” Drake sighs, “Our Rabbi asked me to go to another village a few days away to help bury the dead from a recent illness that swept through it.”
“Weren’t you afraid you’d get it too?” I ask him.
“Part of me wished I would,” he tells me, “There were days that I wished He would strike me dead to end my suffering. But I packed up and went to the village to help bury the dead and give what succor I could to the survivors. I had never been to their village before – it was off the trade-route and pretty isolated. There weren’t nearly as many people around back then, you know.
“I came to the Rabbi’s house first and he greeted me warmly, despite the difficult circumstances he was under. He himself lost his wife and all of his children except for a son around my age. And we worked and prayed and buried the dead they way we were taught. He preached to accept God’s divine wisdom without question. He was so charismatic – so fatherly – that I hung on his every word. He didn’t judge me for my prophecy. He just accepted me and encouraged me.
“So, one night when we were almost done, I asked him to help me cleanse the jealousy from my heart. I told him everything – how I loved Lydia but she married Nabal. How he had no love of her. How I was cursed but he was blessed by God and how I didn’t understand that when he was impure and yet I had devoted my life to keeping God’s ways.
“And he told me to do what God commanded and that he and his son would accompany me back to my village to personally thank the Rabbi for lending him such a devout assistant. And they did – a couple of days later. We packed up and walked the whole way back – talking the Torah and I listened to everything he said. He didn’t walk fast – he was getting up there in years – but the walk back was easy and full of camaraderie.
“When we got back, finally, my family gave them rooms and they settled in. The next day, they went to meet with our Rabbi and I continued my studies. Oh – how they praised me. It was the first words of praise that I had ever heard and I drank it up like honeyed-wine. I listened to every word of it and it gave me hope that I could overcome God’s curse on me and be a good man in His eyes.
“When we got back to the inn that evening, the Rabbi and his son retired for the night. I was about to retire also when I saw Lydia crying behind the inn. I asked her what was wrong and she confessed that Nabal had yet to consummate their marriage. That she tried to be a good wife to him, but he made up excuse after excuse. She was heart-broken, angel, and I couldn’t do anything about it without giving away his secret,” he stops and gives a dry cough.
“I’ll get you some water,” I tell him and he nods appreciatively. I can see the emotions in his eyes plainly – the regret, the sadness, the pain of it all – and I really don’t want to put him through it again. I already know this tale doesn’t end well – he took the deal, after all – but I don’t know which one of us is going to end up in more tears by the end of this.
I hope it’s me.
I get him a glass of ice-water and hand it to him. It’s not even sweating – it must be fifty degrees outside. He sips and gives me his half-smile and I have to bite my cheek to beg him to stop. To just kiss him senseless and let what is happening between us now keep him from what happened then.
“I gave her what comfort I could – reminding her of Sarah. Of Job. But the words sounded hollow – even to me. She finally dried her tears and nodded at me and went back inside. I prayed harder that night than ever before – for my brother to renounce his ways, for Lydia to have patience, for my curse to finally be lifted.
“The next day the visiting Rabbi came down ill – nothing serious – but enough to keep him from traveling. I spent the day keeping him comfortable and listening to more of his teachings. He was so knowledgeable – our Rabbi could barely read, and sometimes he fudged things. He never lied, but he got his facts wrong. Never his message, of course. He was a good man, but not very many people back then were literate and every copy of the Torah was subject to error because they were all hand-copied.
“But this Rabbi – he was amazing. He would show me passages in his that clarified so much for me. I felt so blessed – like the veil of ignorance had finally been lifted for me and now I could see. I spent far longer with him than I should have, given his condition, and it was late in the night before I made my way back down to my room.
“On my way down, I heard Nabal in the store-room with another traveler. And I heard Lydia weeping in their room alone. But there was nothing I could do. I kept telling myself to do what God commanded and it would all sort itself out.
“A week passed. I didn’t see Lydia – she was unclean at the time,” he starts and I sit up and face him.
“What?” I ask.
“She was on her period,” he chuckles, “Remember – this was a very long time ago, angel,” he pulls me back against his chest and continues, “And Nabal was in heaven. He had an excuse to be away from his wife and he used it fully. Unashamedly. I caught him several times – in the stables, in the store-room. I prayed and prayed for God to show him the right path. I prayed that Lydia could help him become the man she deserved. I prayed for guidance.
“Every time I talked to the visiting Rabbi about this, he told me to do what God commanded. He didn’t get any worse over the week – but he didn’t get any better. He was an old man and just looked worn out. But he kept paying good silver for his room and my parents were happy to let him convalesce as long as he kept the money flowing. I didn’t see his son very much – he was usually at the market and often didn’t return until late. But the Rabbi said he was doing as he had been instructed, so I didn’t think much more about it.”
I can feel the noose tightening and I want it to stop. My poor Drake. Trying to do what’s right when even I can see that the visiting Rabbi and his son were playing a scam on him. Hustling him for the biggest prize there is.
“Six days later, the Rabbi gave me his Torah to study, saying that he was too tired to talk that day,” Drake continues, “And I was so happy. I left the Rabbi’s breakfast in his room and hurried to my own room with it clutched in my arms. I briefly saw Nabal and he looked miserable, but I didn’t pay him much mind. I just figured that his traveler had left and he would have to go through another dry-spell before the next one came along. And I was actually a little smug about that,” he chuckles, “That maybe this would be the catalyst he needed to be a real husband.
“I studied that book all day,” he continues, “I didn’t come down for meals and both of my parents knocked on my door every couple of hours to make sure I was still ok,” he shifts a bit and curls our hands over his heart, “But I was completely engrossed. I sat there all day poring over every word.
“It was late – I had already lit a candle and I was determined to get through as much as I could before I had to give it back. I had notes scribbled all over a sheet of velum – which the Rabbi had also given me – and was completely absorbed in my studies.
“I don’t think I fell asleep, but I remember seeing a bright glow in front of the door. It got so bright that it overcame my candle. So bright that it hurt my eyes to look at it. Brighter and brighter until I was afraid the inn would catch fire. But there was no heat. Eventually, a silhouette of an angel came into view.
“’I am the arch-angel Michael – messenger of God,’” it told me, ‘”God commands you to lay with your brother’s wife until she is heavy with child. You will do this as your brother, for Lydia would refuse you were she to know you are not Nabal,’ he commanded me in a booming voice. I was so frightened I fell to my knees and cowered before him. I didn’t know how the whole inn hadn’t been woken up by him, but I heard no one in the halls. Nothing downstairs.
“’How can this be?’ I asked him, ‘I cannot go against Yaweh’s covenant. He commanded us not to covet our neighbors’ wives. Surely he wouldn’t command me to go against that.’”
“The angel roared and a flaming sword appeared in his hand,” Drake continues, his voice getting a little thicker now. I don’t have to look up to know that he has tears in his eyes, “’How dare you refuse your God!’ he roared and I flinched, sure that I was about to die. I had never been so frightened in my entire life. ‘Did Abraham refuse Him when He ordered Abraham to kill Isaac? This is the proof that God wants of your devotion to Him. Refuse Him and He will curse this village and all in it. Fire will rain down from the Heavens and burn all of you to ash. Tomorrow night, and every night thereafter until she refuses you, you will lay with your sister-in-law and ensure that a child will be born unto her.’
“I couldn’t speak – I was so frightened. But I nodded, I think. ‘Do not fail your God,’ he warned me, pointing his sword right at me. And then he simply disappeared. I don’t know how long I stayed there on the floor, shaking in my own urine. What was I going to do? If I followed the angel’s order, I would be breaking a commandment and betraying my God. If I didn’t, I would be refusing my God and fulfilling my destiny to bring about great evil.
“Finally I got up and cleaned myself off and read the story of Abraham and Isaac again and again, now understanding the war in Abraham’s heart in a new way. And then I went out to find Nabal. When I told him what had happened, he was overjoyed. Nabal – despite his failings – was not an evil man. He cared for Lydia and hated hurting her. But he just couldn’t make himself work for her.
“We made plans for that night. He would spend the evening with Lydia, giving her a few cups of wine so that she was relaxed and then tell her that he was going downstairs for more. We would change clothes in my room and I would come back as him. And he told me it wouldn’t hurt me to have a cup of wine myself. Then, after we were done and she was asleep, I would go back to my room, change again and leave my door unlocked so that he could put his clothes back on when he was done and slip back in the room with her.
“And that’s what we did – night after night. I was so nervous that first night,” he chuckles.
“You – nervous?” I tease and he laughs.
“Yes, angel, there was a time when even I was a virgin,” he kisses my temple, “And I felt so guilty about it every day. But – as we started learning more and more about each other – Lydia and I found out how pleasurable sex could be. And then we took longer and longer,” he rubs my hand in his own, “Until Nabal was complaining about not getting enough sleep. But only half-so. He had another traveler to entertain him, so he was not without things to do every evening. And very soon, Lydia got pregnant.”
“You stud,” I giggle.
“Oh yeah,” he chuckles, “I thought much the same about myself. Everyone was thrilled, of course. But miscarriages were very common back then, so there was always a constant fear too. I didn’t want to continue after that – for fear of hurting her – but the angel had said until she rejected me, so we continued. Lydia was quite eager for it – maybe more than before she got pregnant – and watching her body change was a pretty big turn-on. I had long ago gotten over my guilt. I was absolutely in love with her and so thrilled that she was carrying my child that I now had to constantly remind myself that she wasn’t my wife and I was supposed to be my brother.
“And eventually, as the pregnancy continued, it started becoming apparent that our time together was coming to a close. There were fewer and fewer positions that were comfortable for her. I had to be easier with her. It was bitter-sweet. And then one night it came crashing down,” he chokes a bit. I could already tell that he had been silently crying, as I could feel the tears dropping onto my hair.
And as much as I don’t want him to continue, I get the feeling that he needs this catharsis. That he’s been carrying this pain around for four thousand years and has probably never told anyone his story before. I squeeze his hand and look up into his eyes, “I love you,” I tell him and wipe his tears with my free hand. I expect him to make some kind of conceited joke – something along the line of, “How could you not?” The drama and the conceit and the corny jokes are his defense mechanisms as much as my anger is mine.
But he doesn’t. He squeezes his eyes closed tightly against the pain in his heart, “Nabal was careless and got caught in the stable by our father and the Rabbi’s son,” he starts out and the sobs start coming, “Mother came to get Lydia and burst in on us just as we both were peaking. There was no way Lydia could have claimed being forced – not when she was obviously enjoying it,” his tears are streaming now, despite his eyes being closed and his shoulders shake in sobs he’s trying to repress.
I move around so that he’s in my arms now and stroke his head as he lets his grief pour out of him. My face is wet too, but he needs me to be strong for him now. Not to judge him – just to let him have his release and be there for him.
I stroke his head and bend down and kiss it every once in a while, but I don’t say anything. He’s not with me mentally right now – he’s back in that village watching everything unfold all over again. If I say anything at all, I’ll pull him back before he’s let it all out.
It takes him probably a good half-hour until his sobs start to slow. He sniffles loudly and I reach over and hand him a couple of tissues.
He gives me a wan smile and shifts himself back to composed.
“Sometimes I really hate bi’s,” I think, jealous that I can’t poof my own swollen, splotchy face away after I have a good cry. Instead I dab my eyes and face and wait for him to drink some more water.
When he’s done I open my arms for him to snuggle into again, but he shakes his head, “I’m ok now, I think. Well, needless to say, the entire village was in chaos. If it had been just my father who had found Nabal, we might have been able to convince our parents and Lydia to keep it quiet. But the Rabbi’s son had immediately gone to get our Rabbi,, who would have no choice but to sentence us all.
“And he did. Nabal was to be beheaded. Lydia was to be stoned to death, killing both her and our baby. I – since I was unmarried – hadn’t committed adultery, but had still broken a commandment. I was to be castrated. If I survived that, then I would be exiled and no village in the area would take me in.
“And I – of course – didn’t understand how this all could be happening. I had done as God commanded and I had still brought shame and evil onto our family. My parents would be shunned and kicked out of the village also – no one would dare do business with such a cursed family. I tried over and over again to explain to the Rabbi what had happened – how Lydia was innocent in this and should be let go, at least. But he wouldn’t listen to me.
“I sat locked in my room and cried. Even if we somehow managed to escape, Lydia was too far along to travel very far and runners had already been sent to all of the villages we could possibly reach in time. I prayed – I prayed to God to spare at least her, Nabal and the baby. I prayed that He send the angel back to tell me what I had done wrong. I prayed. I begged. I pleaded. But I heard nothing. The angel didn’t come.
“And then I got angry. I had done everything that was asked of me. How could He do this? I screamed. I threw that Torah across the room. I smashed things and cursed His name to the Heavens. I shouted and swore and denounced Him.
“And suddenly the Rabbi and his son were in my room, even though I had been told earlier I would not be allowed to visit with them, as this was a village matter. I apologized for ruining his Torah, but he just smiled and shrugged it off. He didn’t look sick any longer – in fact, he looked very good. And his son started talking to me – telling me he could make the whole thing go away if I denounced God formally.”
“And that was Seth, right?” I surmise.
“Yes – that was Seth – the snake,” he frowns bitterly, “We agreed that everyone would believe the child to be Nabal’s and no one would remember that this happened at all. That Nabal would change his ways enough to at least give Lydia a happy life. That Lydia and the baby would survive the delivery and recover to full health. And that no one would remember me – other than I was the twin boy to Nabal that died in childbirth. And I signed it willingly.
“And then Seth disappeared with my contract and the Rabbi – who was actually an incubus – ported me back to our arch-demon and I learned that I had sold my soul and exactly what that meant. I was ok with it – as long as Lydia and the baby and Nabal were safe. I found out later that they all died in a cholera outbreak a month after my son was born. That I may still have my equipment, but I would never father a child again.”
“Oh God, Drake,” I reach for his hand, “I’m so sorry.”
“I don’t know who it was when I had that dream, Claire,” he tells me, eyes still bright, “But I guarantee you if it would have to have been someone with a lot more control than any arch-demon I’ve ever seen, because I would have wrung that imp’s neck the second I saw him.”
Hatred flashes in his eyes and something else – regret?
“Why did you tell me this?” I ask softly, wiping his remaining tears away, “Other than the being honest part? It doesn’t change the way I feel about you.”
“For two reasons,” he thumbs the tears gathering in the corners of my nose away, “Because you see the injustices in this world the way no one else has. On both sides. And that – I think – is why everyone is so afraid of you. But also because I want you to know that – once I accepted what happened – I attacked it with abandon. I ran scams much, much worse than what happened to me. I lied. I cheated. I played every angle. I hurt a lot of people, Claire. A lot of people who didn’t deserve to be hurt. And I did it because I was still so angry about my own lot in life. I got screwed so why not screw them back? But it wasn’t until I saw you that I realized that I was screwing the wrong people.”
“Why me?” I ask him right before he kisses me. I like where this is going, but this is the first time he’s ever opened up to me – aside from declaring he loves me, which still has my head spinning – and I’d like to take advantage of his openness before he takes advantage of my opening legs.
“Do you remember the night we met?” he asks me, sliding his lips toward my ear.
“Jill’s housewarming,” I tell him.
“I had just been transferred,” he chuckles, “Was there barely a week. But Jilly was the only one who was nice to me. I went more to check out the scene than anything else. And then I saw you and Jojo,” he smiles, “I had to actually pull Jill in the kitchen and ask about you both. ‘They’re Saints,’ she told me, ‘And both too good for you.’ So I watched and waited and you left and walked next door,” he pauses and kisses me again.
“To check the progress on my condo’s construction,” I confirm.
“And I pulled my usual moves on you, but you just laughed at me,” he continues with a wink, “I didn’t know that you were a redeemer until Darius filled me in later. Hell, I’d never met a redeemer before. I thought they were just a myth – like elves and fairies and leprechauns.”
“And vampires and werewolves and zombies,” I add and point outside the window.
“Yes,” he chuckles at me, “But I fell for you that night. You made me feel the same way Lydia had. That I wasn’t worthy of you but I’d try like hell for you anyway,” he kisses me again, long and slow, “I’d go through it all again – every second – for this right now,” he tells me, “I love you Claire. And I have forever to show you how much.”
He makes love to me slowly. There’s never a moment when his mouth isn’t kissing, licking, sucking some part of me. His hands move confidently – undressing me nearly as deftly as if he has poofed my pajamas away instead of dropping them over the side of the bed. My hands land on his back, then his shoulders, then his hair as he works his way down, down, down, until I’m gasping and trying to pull him up to me. Face to face – core to core.
Need to need.
He relents and brings himself up to kiss me, still fully-clothed. My hands knot in the back of his shirt, tugging up urgently, “Please, Drake,” I whisper, pushing myself against him.
He gives me his shit-eating grin and poofs his shirt away. “Better?” he asks mischievously.
“No,” I reach for his waistband, but he pulls my hand away and holds it while he reaches down to kiss me. I taste myself on his tongue and hear his thoughts in my head.
“Not yet, angel,” he chuckles to himself. And then wraps his legs behind my hips and his arms beneath my shoulder-blades and flips me on top of him. He keeps me close to him and kisses me again, groaning as his hands find my erogenous zones again.
“God, Drake, please stop,” I whimper even though what he’s doing to me is so very, very good, “I,” Oh God!, “I want you.”
The Kamasutra Vatsyayana lists sixty-nine (no pun intended) sexual positions besides a variety of foreplay suggestions. Drake leads me through at least seventeen before we peak – him a moment before me – and clutch each other, shaking and gasping in mutual release. I think the position we’re in is called “Clouds Cover the Mountain,” but I’m probably wrong. I read that book, along with Everything You Ever Wanted To Know About Sex But Were Afraid To Ask (which scared the hell out of me) in grade school. My celebration in fifth-grade for getting my period. Way to go, Dad.
However, that reservoir of other people’s emotions that I’ve carried around for the last couple of months has decided now would be a good time to dump out. Now that my body is still quaking and sending all kinds of endorphins through me (which are supposed to make me happy) – my tears come unbidden.
The first sob starts when I still have my face planted into Drake’s shoulder. He pulls up from me, scanning my face, but quickly relaxes, “You ok?” he asks, kissing my temple.
“No,” I choke out, “But we’re ok.”
“All right,” he smiles and grabs the tissue box from his side of the bed, “As long as this isn’t about us, or about what we just did, I understand,” he releases me so I can lie down and spoons against my back, passing a tissue to me, “You’ve been under a lot of pressure in the last couple of months. Just let it out.”
Well, now I’m crying because I’m pissed off too. That was so condescending and misogynistic and just plain freaking wrong that I want to hit him. Which is not where I should be after what we just shared.
I get up and pull my discarded pajamas from the floor without a word. Still sniffling, but the choking knot that needs to be released has been pushed down for a couple of minutes. Replaced by WTF?
“Where are you going?” he sits up.
“To clear my head,” I snap at him, knowing he was trying to be sensitive. But he failed miserably, “Goodnight.”
The sofa in the sitting area is not comfortable at all. It’s way too short, horsehair and was made before springs were invented. But I’m determined. I take the tissue box from the bathroom and settle myself as well as I can and pull the old wool blanket up under my chin and stare into the fire, waiting for the tears to come back.
They don’t. Damn it.
I can see Drake pacing in the bedroom through the fireplace. He’s pulled on (or poofed on) his pajama bottoms, but not his top. I can see the bottom third of his torso through the fireplace. The fine, soft, dark hair that leads down. The way his muscles contract and bunch as he moves. The way he lifts his elbow up to shove his hand through his hair as he turns and paces back.
He grunts and throws himself on the bed, grabbing his phone. That was my last look at him before he scooted out of my line of sight. I roll over and stare at the ceiling, a few trickling tears leaking out of the corners of my eyes and rolling into my ears.
“Damn it,” I curse and dig my fingers in my ears to pull them away and crack my head on the hard wooden armrest when I hurl myself down in a huff.
“God damn it,” I shout at the same time Drake opens the bedroom door.
“Get dressed,” he tells me, tossing my running gear in my direction.
“Why?” I snap at him, rubbing the back of my head.
“Because you always think the clearest when you run,” he tells me, placing my cross-trainers next to the couch and leaving a pair of socks on top of them, “And there’s an all-night jog-a-thon for breast-cancer in Halifax. If we leave now, we can just make admissions.”
I’m stunned by his thoughtfulness and grab the sports-bra that’s tucked beneath my sweatshirt. I dress quickly and pull my hair up in a ponytail.
“I’m sorry, Claire,” he tells me when I’m done. He wraps his arms around me firmly, “I’m not really good understanding women, you know. I’ve never stuck around long enough to. But I am trying.”
At this moment, he looks so sincere and worried that I’m mad at him that I can’t help but let it go. The corners of his mouth are drawn down and there’s a little worry-crease between his brows.
“Sometimes you are very trying,” I grin and kiss him lightly, “Let’s go.”
He gives me his lopsided smile and his eyes light up when he realizes I’m teasing him. He reaches down for a real kiss and, tightening his arms around me, poofs us to Halifax.
Lost in his kiss, I don’t even smell the tiny bit of smoke his poofs make.
We lift our heads and walk, hand in hand, quickly to the registration table. After paying our fees and getting our numbers, Drake leads me toward the starting line. Since we’re so late, we’re in the back of the pack.
“Do not place,” he warns me, “I know how competitive you are, but you’re here to clear your head and get rid of what you’ve been bottling up – not to actually race. Besides, you’d be double-taxed on your winnings and it would just be a huge headache.”
“You sound like Bishop,” I chuckle at him.
“Who do you think taught him?” he chuckles back.
The starting pistol goes off and we wait for all of the runners to start moving. We start off at a very slow jog, but soon the pacers get their rhythm and the shuffle of faster and slower happens and we’re now in the middle of the fastest pack. Feet pounding, Drake is right next to me. I’m lost in thought, trying to figure out how to let go of everything I’ve been holding inside without crying my eyes out. It’s been about half an hour since we’ve started and we’re about a third of the way along.
Passing a water stand, Drake grabs two bottles and hands me one.
“Soulsss.”
“Please tell me that was you trying to be funny again,” I tell him between sips from the open squirt-top.
“Unfortunately, no,” he grimaces, “Did anyone else hear it?”
“Doesn’t seem like it,” I glance around, “Plan?”
“Call Clark and Moira?” he suggests.
“With what? I left my Clark-phone back in our room and I don’t have anything else on me. We’re in the middle of a city park – I doubt there are pay-phones around the next turn,” I snort and drink more.
“Soulsss!” sounds closer.
“Plan B?” Drake looks behind him.
“God damn it,” I huff, “I did not sign up to be Buffy the fucking Soul Slucking Slayer!”
“Slucking?” he arches a brow. He’s not even sweating. Damned bi’s.
“You try saying it,” I snap back at him and glance over my shoulder too.
“Good point,” he nods, “Plan B?”
I reach for more oxygen – in through the nose, out through the mouth – and respond, “I uncloak and go off the trail. You pick a point to poof in front and use your bi-charm to get these people to run like hell.”
“I don’t think so,” he starts, but is cut off by another cry of the soul sucker – this time, even closer.
“Guess we don’t have much choice,” he concedes, “Run like hell, angel,” he squeezes my hand once, “I’ll try finding Clark and Moira as soon as I know these people are safe.”
I peel off the trail and start crossing the park, uncloaking as I do. As soon as I’m out of earshot of the other runners, I start taunting the soul sucker, “Here I am, Ugly. Come and get me.”
“Soulsss!” she – and I can tell it’s a she now – cries out and crashes after me. Woodsmoke and cloves come to my nose lightly, and I know Drake has enacted his part of our half-cocked plan. I’m a good runner. I’ve been thoroughly-warmed up now and could do another seven kilometers no problem. But at an easy, measured pace. Keeping my reserves until the last kilometer. Not off-course, in the dark and being chased.
“This is seriously going to screw with my run-averages,” I growl to myself.
“Soulsss!” the triumphant cry comes out when she targets me. She’s about 200 yards away, having thrashed through what looks like a pansy-bed.
And she’s recently-turned. Well, at least that’s what I surmise as I glance at her and turn around again to keep my lead. She doesn’t have eyes or ears, but the rest of her face is there. Including very long teeth.
“Clark,” I start shouting, sprinting away. It might have worked the last time. It might work now, “Quit getting your freaky on and get over here now!” I clear a fallen branch like it’s an Olympic try-out and keep going.
“Damn, she’s faster than he was,” I think as I hear her behind me. I still have a lead, but she’s closing quick.
I scan ahead of me, looking for something to trip her up or slow her down. There isn’t much and I keep running – leading her deeper into the woods and away from the run-route. I splash through a small stream, scaring some frogs and stirring up a cloud of midges.
“Gah!” I squeak when a pair of bats swoop down to catch the bugs. I’m not afraid of bats, but I wasn’t expecting them. They came out of nowhere and it’s so dark out here I can barely see thirty feet ahead. If it weren’t for the moon and the general light pollution I wouldn’t even see that far. I take off through the trees on the other side and hear a huge splash behind me. She either fell into the stream or jumped into it, by the sound, but I don’t stop to check.
I’d rather run than fight her, but I’m starting to realize that I may need to defend myself. I start looking for a sturdy branch and a defendable spot as I scurry along.
“Soulsss,” her cry is a little further away than last time, but still too close for my comfort. I wonder how Drake’s doing getting all of those people to safety. I also wonder, as I crash through more underbrush, if there’s poison ivy this far north.
I stumble on a tree root and scrape my palms when I go down. “Damn it,” I curse and push myself back up. The little gain that I just had is probably gone now. I take off again, pausing to pick up a good-sized piece of deadfall before the trees break into a clearing.
It’s not much of a clearing, but there’s a picnic table under a canopy and a couple of porta-potties.
“Soulsss!” she reaches the clearing just as I’m putting the picnic table behind me. “Clark!” I yell again and turn around. I’ve got no choice but to fight her. Running around in circles will only tire me out more and she’ll eventually catch me.
“Come on, Soul-Sucker Susie,” I call to her, making sure I have a firm grip on my branch, “Let’s get this over with.”
She charges and bangs right into the table, catching her knee on the bench and whacking her forehead on the table. Undeterred – albeit a little slower – she starts climbing.
“Soulsss!”
“You guys really need some vocabulary lessons,” I say and thrust my branch right into her solar plexus. It’s too dull to stab her, but it will knock the wind out of her. She falls back off the table and onto her butt.
“Soulsss,” she wheezes, but doesn’t try to get up yet.
I wonder who she fed on that turned her into this and what happened to him. Did she kill him? Is he out here somewhere hurt? Dying? Does anyone know he’s here? Does anyone care?
And if Moira and Clark do get here in time to capture her before she gorges herself on me, all they’ll do is shove her in with the rest of them for who knows how long. I can feel my well opening up a bit.
“Not now,” I hiss to myself, “Not the time.” She’s getting up again, and I make sure I have a clear line to the porta-potties if I need to run. Worst comes to worst, I’ll just lock myself in one and wait it out.
I wrinkle my nose at the thought.
If I had any way of barring the door, I would try to trap her in one. Despite the fact that she wants to slurp me up like a soul-smoothie, I really don’t want to hurt her. From what I can deduce by talking to Moira, Clark and Drake, she doesn’t have any control over it. I’m sure she didn’t ask to turn into a faceless, monosyllabic zombie-vampire.
I kind of feel sorry for her. She might have been nice. Before I left Miami, I never would have thought that any bi’s were nice. But I have met some now. Lyla, for instance. And Mona and Giselle of course.
Suddenly, in a leap worthy of Jackie Chan, Susie launches herself from her half-crouch over the table and grabs my wrist. “Soulsss!” she screams triumphantly and pulls her lips back, preparing to bite.
I palm-strike her in the half-nose and yank free of her grasp, smacking her full in the temple with my branch. She goes down again, but this time, I jump on top of her. I pin her arms with my thighs and her legs with my calves. She’s petite – maybe five-two – and I don’t have any trouble using my size to my advantage. I have one hand on her neck, keeping her from lifting up. I push the other into the middle of her chest.
And as soon as I do, my well breaks open and pours directly into her. I didn’t expect this and I can’t turn it off. She whimpers and thrashes, but doesn’t scream. Doesn’t try to bite me. Eventually, she stops fighting me and lies quiet under me, her head turned to the side with her hair covering her non-face.
I’m not crying. In fact, I’m incredibly calm. If it weren’t for the fact that I’m a little concerned that I’ve hurt her and that I can’t pull my hand away no matter how many times I try, I would be completely fine.
Or as fine as I can get with the thought of two chicks lying on top of each other in the middle of a wooded park at night.
I feel myself drain into her. All of the memories. All of the pain. All of the guilt that I’ve carried around for sins that I didn’t commit flows into her until there’s nothing left. She’s lying so still, if I didn’t feel her breathe and feel her heartbeat I would think that I killed her. And then my well is dry and my hand feels just like a hand again. I pull it away and she doesn’t respond. I pull my other from her neck. Still nothing.
But I remember how she played possum with me before, so I grab my branch and jump off of her quickly, rounding again behind the picnic table.
Nothing.
“Well crap,” I think, “Now what do I do? I can’t leave her here. Guess I need to wait for Moira and Clark.”
I lean against one of the posts of the canopy and wait. It’s quiet – probably around midnight or so. Mosquitoes buzz around me, but they’re really feasting on her. She’s lying in the damp grass naked. She still hasn’t moved.
“Damn it,” I sigh and then chuckle to myself. It’s the same tone I heard in Drake’s voice when he called me from Sydney. The same, “This is going to suck but I need to do it anyway,” voice.
I reach down and haul her over my shoulders, adjusting her so her weight is centered and I can walk without stumbling. She’s small, but even so, carrying eighty-percent of my body weight is still a chore. Again, I am so glad for the hours and hours of cardio and strength training I’ve pushed myself through.
A small groan comes from her dangling head and I stop, tensing for another fight. But that’s all that comes. And the groan doesn’t sound nearly as single-minded as her earlier vocalizations. Deciding that she’s still out of it – and glad that she’s just unconscious – I lay her out as gently as I can on the picnic table and turn on the switch for the bug-light.
It’s only when I turn back around and see her in the light that I suck in a breath.
She has a face again.
A very cute face, in fact. Heart-shaped down to a clefted-chin. High cheekbones. Light brown, thick lashes beneath perfectly groomed brows. Tiny ears that sweep back beneath her cloud of golden-brown hair. And a perfect, tiny pink mouth. Not the killer maw that I saw earlier.
“What the hell?” I whisper. I’m very, very confused. Not that I haven’t been very, very confused for a very long time, but this is different. This isn’t someone pushing me in a direction I didn’t want to go in – leading me by the nostrils and not giving me any answers. Telling me I did something that I didn’t know I did until it was too late. Even damning Scalli and Laurence wasn’t like this – although I did that knowingly. Angrily. Vengefully.
This is something I didn’t know I could do, but I’m watching it unfold. I don’t know how I did it, but there’s no doubt – no second hand knowledge with this one. I cured a soul-sucker. All by myself. I put a hand to my heart, but I don’t feel the weight there anymore. I pushed it all into her.
And she changed.
Even as I’m processing it, she stirs and opens her eyes. They’re as gray-blue as the waters lapping around the island. She blinks a couple of times and then sits up.
“Hello,” she says calmly, “Who are you?’
“Whoa,” my brain has put the engine-brakes on, “Back the train up here.”
“Um,” I swallow and take another sip of now-warm water from my bottle. I’m amazed that I’ve kept it with me, “Can you do me a favor? Can you say ‘souls?’ “
“Souls?” she repeats, confused.
My legs turn to jelly and I toss my branch aside. I wobble up to the table and straddle the bench, “My name is Claire and I’m a redeemer. Have you heard of them?”
“No,” she shakes her head, “What are they? I’m Allison, by the way.”
“Well,” I strip off my tank-top and hand it to her. It’s sweaty, but it’s all I’ve got, “They’re kind of like bi’s without the cool perks.”
“Thanks,” she says and poofs it into a sports bra and shorts, mimicking me, “Who do you work for?”
“Well, technically for the Church, but I’ve recently become more of a free agent. I’m not contracted – I was born with my gifts,” I tell her, “What’s the last thing you remember?”
“I had just registered for the race and had some time to kill,” she shrugs, “Found some guy and went off to top off. He was good – really, really good. And then,” she scrunches her face, “That’s all I remember. How did I get here?”
“Well,” I bite my lip, “You turned into a soul-sucker.”
She stares at me like I just announced she was on her way to have tea with the Queen, “If that’s an American joke, it’s not funny. We take soul-suckers very seriously.”
“Good, because I am being serious. I’ve just spent the last half-hour being chased by you so the rest of the runners could get to safety,” I slap a mosquito that’s dive-bombing my stomach.
“Do you even know what a soul-sucker is?” she lifts one of her perfect brows.
“Faceless, one-worded feeding machines with serious oral hygiene problems,” I tell her, “And you were one up until a few minutes ago.”
“How? What?” she shakes her head, “It’s not possible. Once you turn you don’t go back.”
“Well, obviously it is possible,” I snort, “How do you feel?”
“Hungry,” she sighs, “And scared.”
“I’m sure,” I nod, “After that I would be afraid to feed again too. Look, let’s go back to the finish line. My friends are probably waiting for me there and I’m sure they’ll want to meet you – make sure you’re ok. Moira runs a sanctuary – I’m sure she’ll want to talk to you.”
“I really need to feed, Claire,” she looks at me embarrassed.
“I have an incubus friend. I’m sure he’ll take you out and chaperon you, if that makes you feel better,” I give her a smile and stand up.
We walk through the trees and eventually find our way down to the finish line from the back. It’s crowded and we weave through the people. Allison occasionally whimpers, but I keep a firm grasp on her hand and tug her along. Finally, I spot Clark, Moira and Drake off to the side.
“Oh, thank God,” Moira spots us first and races toward us, “Where is the sucker, Claire?”
“Right here,” I smile, “Moira, meet Allison – a.k.a. Susie Soul-Sucker. Allison, this is Moira, the one I told you about.”
“How,” Moira looks between the two of us, “How is this possible?”
“I was kind of hoping you would tell us,” I chuckle, but don’t get any further as Drake runs up, Clark close on his heels. But instead of reaching for me, he picks Allison up and swings her around.
“Allie? Is it really you? It’s been years,” he puts her down with his back to me and leans his head toward hers, arms still encircling her body. He head tilts up to meet his and my stomach plummets.
“Apparently they know each other,” Clark comments and put a hand on my shoulder.
“Apparently so,” I turn my head, “It’s after midnight. Can one of you take me back to the inn?”
“Um,” Moira keeps glancing between the two of them and me.
“It’s fine,” I spit out loudly, “She needs to feed and I’m sure Drake would be more than happy to chaperon her, by the looks of things.”
Clark looks at me a little sadly before pulling me against his side, “She’s right, Moira. I know you have a million questions, but it’s late and Claire has a very important day tomorrow. You can get your answers after the review panel concludes.”
“Yes – of course,” she blinks and nods, “How selfish of me. You must be exhausted, Claire. Take her home, Clark – I’ll only be a minute.”
I close my eyes and hold my breath, but Clark’s movements aren’t like Darius’ or a bi’s. There’s no smell. No sense of vertigo. Just a huge, bright light – the kind that would sear your retinas if your eyes weren’t closed – and then nothing.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks me, rubbing my arms to tell me it’s ok to open my eyes now.
“No,” I tell him and flop on the bed, “I want to go to sleep and be ready for the next twelve hours of ‘I don’t understand any of this.’ I’ll deal with the last two hours of ‘I don’t understand any of this’ after that.”
Clark gives me a small smile, “I suppose you’re entitled to that. Goodnight, Claire-Beth.”