I’m used to making men happy with my smile, willing to do what I want, to trust me even when they should know better.

Sometimes I don’t make that much of an effort, sometimes I even like trying to be annoying. It’s fun to tweak a fool now and then, and I don’t often get a chance.

The petty little man wasn’t happy with me as I spoke my name, and he stumbled through writing my name on the city’s list of entries. The spelling was atrocious, but close enough that somebody else could read it off and pronounce something I would probably recognize as my own. If they didn’t have a thick accent. And if I remembered it was my name, it’d been years since I’d used it.

“My papers, if you please?” I asked, before snatching back the papers off his desk with a confidence that surprised me almost as much as it did the punctilious clerk who had futilely examined them for any signs of forgery. To his obvious disappointment, they’d proven authentic.

His irate glare made me laugh as I moved on, leaving him behind to stew at my audacity.

He was probably upset that he hadn’t found some flaw to justify filing them away, so a new copy could be made. One that he’d charge a fair commission to do. But I wasn’t going to let that happen. They were mine, after all, and entirely legitimate.

I’d seen the High Admiral seal them herself in her own office on the Royal Flagship itself.

“You could be more discreet,” said my companion with a sigh. Sometimes she had no sense of fun. Or maybe it was the poison from the little creature that had stung her hand earlier this morning giving her a bad temper. Good enough fortune for me though. The burning pain was the only reason she’d agreed to travel ahead with me into the city before the rest of our caravan passed the gates.

“I’m walking free where I’d have been hard-pressed to sneak into even a year ago,” I told her, “so pardon me for finding the change in circumstances amusing.”

“Peace treaty or no peace treaty, there’s a lot of folks who might decide you’re still worth knifing,” she replied, “And if you managed to sneak your murderous little ass into this bastion, I would have thought the war even more likely to end earlier.”

She led me off down to a narrow tunnel that ran under the city walls, as I pondered whether that was a compliment to me or not.

Moving through the long passageway, I wasn’t that inclined to argue the point, it wasn’t likely I would have infiltrated this deeply into their territory anyway. The risk would have been high, though the idea of killing off a few dozen targets in a place they believed safe made me smile. It would have been a bit of fun.

The wave of pain that formed behind my eyes told me I was pushing my geas, and I stumbled into the wall before catching myself.

That elicited a laugh. She had to know what I had been thinking.

“Shut up,” I snapped, trying not to think of what else I could do if I weren’t constrained by my oath of peace.

I managed to keep from wanting to kill anyone else until we got out of the tunnel, and even the sudden glare of sunlight at the exit didn’t manage to bother me for long.

The usual bustle of a marketplace awaited us, a few merchant stalls hawking wares, a tavern or two where a thirsty traveler might find a drink. Even a stable, though we’d left our mounts behind, so we didn’t need that service.

A crowd of young street urchins was lined up by a fountain that stood in the center of the square, a statue of a woman stood above it, with a snake wrapped around her. Water gushed out of the reptile’s fanged mouth.

I couldn’t tell what that was supposed to represent. I was tempted to ask, but instead, my partner spoke first, her injury was more important than my curiosity anyway.

“Which of you can lead us to a temple? One not too far.” she said brusquely, “I’m not in a mood to be dragged all over the city or into any back alleys.”

Most of them looked away, unwilling to offer aid. Not too surprising, a pair of dust-clad bravos didn’t offer much chance of a fat purse. They had to know the main caravan was coming with more opportunities, more chances, easier marks whether their intentions were good or ill.

“A temple, brave warriors, I hope it does not offend” spoke one of the scruffier ones, eyeing the weapons both of us were wearing, “but the shrines to the gods of battle are kept beyond the wall, so that the prayers for their attention are kept outside and that the city may stay at peace.”

The downcast face kept me from looking the lad in his eyes, but somehow I sensed that wasn’t the whole truth. Didn’t matter to me though, I wasn’t going to set an offering today.

“Not looking for that kind of worship, need a different service, a healer is what I need,” she cradled the bandaged hand where she’d been stung, “one who can cure a sting from the stupid blue bug that bit me. Burns hard enough I’d almost ask for a butcher to chop it off ”

The lad stepped back at that remark.

“Oh no, if you would forgive me, I cannot take you to a butcher, not me.” he said with obvious discomfort, “it would not be proper.”

“Don’t mind her attempt at humor, she’s just a little out of sorts,” I said, “just lead us to the nearest place that a woman can say her prayers, and not be disturbed.”

“A woman’s temple,” said the boy, “you’re, of course, mistress, yes, yes, such women as you, perhaps you would like to go to the Dusk Maiden’s altar, if you do not mind.”

I flipped a coin between my fingers, hoping the promise would be an incentive.

The boy looked up at that, and nodded. I saw his green eyes flash, and wondered if he’d be pretty with his face cleaned of dirt.

Every day a person lives there are changes. Some come too slowly to notice before they set upon you, some come sharp and quick with a burst of pain.

A morning of prayers together had followed the required rituals. Tossing away a few lingering items of my childhood. Toys of mine. Pieces of clothing I had long outgrown. Even an old wooden teething ring that my grandfather must have carved. Otherwise, my mother would not have saved such a worthless trinket.

Now she cast it away as a sign of my growth. Part of the purification and cleansing of our shared pair of rooms.

In other times, in another place, I might have been sent to another town. I might have gone to live in another home, to take a place with other family members, but without even a father to call by name, I stayed. For now that much remained unchanged.

“By the Law, we are blessed. By the Law, we are saved. By the Law, we serve.” intoned my mother over our first meal together as adults. The table was laid out with a pair of bowls of fresh greens, four boiled eggs, and tiny bits of bread, cheese, and fruit. A meager almsgiving from a person I could never offer gratitude. Any more, even a single bit of meat, and it would have been thrown out.

I knew one of Yamma’s granddaughters had left it at our door, without even a knock. A final gift. An unwelcome truth made clear. A part of my life was over.

I would never set foot in her kitchen again by my own choice, let alone be allowed to help prepare food for another. But she could still be kind.

Mother clapped her hands in slight impatience at me, expecting me to close the prayer.

“Heed to the Law, Keep to the Law, Live to the Law” I choked out the words, knowing how often I’d be saying them, that this was merely the first of many repetitions.

I passed the portion of food on my side across the table, as my mother did likewise to me.

Even our cups of water.

Others before self. Self after others.

I took a deep breath before beginning to eat. The entire meal might pass with only the clink of forks to break the silence. It’d happened before when my mother had not felt like speaking to me.

I was not so graced this time.

Barely three bites passed my mother’s lips before she decided to ask me a question.

“Do you know why we keep the Law?”

“Because we made the Promise.” I answered. Our people. Our tribe. Our family.

“You have made it now,” she said, “in the Temple, as an adult, no more a child. You will keep it, as I did, as your ancestors before you. You will fulfill your obligations. You will serve under the Law.”

“Yes, mother, I know, I intend to do so.”

Even though my heart pounded at the thought of those obligations.

“So what will you be doing?”

“A forty-wagon caravan is supposed to be arriving this afternoon. Out of the southern provinces, heading north. The outriders posted a report. Most of them are new to the city.”

A click of her tongue signaled irritation. She wanted a different answer. I had none to give her.

“You’ll be with those boys at the fountain again.”

I nodded in agreement, I could hardly dispute the truth of my plans.

“I don’t like those boys. I’ve never liked you spending time with them. I like it even less now.” she said before taking a few more bites.

“I know mother, but you never forbade me,” I replied, without mentioning that she no longer could do so. If she wanted, if I pushed her with a defiant assertion of independence, she could still find a way to make me regret it. I had no escape. Not yet.

I took a long drink of water to keep myself from saying more.

Her fork stabbed a piece of cheese hard enough to make her bowl ring. She chewed it deliberately herself.

“And what will you do together? How will you serve now?”

“I will do the same as before, mother, lead them to innkeepers of good repute, show them the marketplaces for anything they have to sell, find them what they wish to buy.”

“You could do better, you could find a place in one of those inn’s now,” she said, “you don’t have to beg strangers for kindness at the gates. You’re better than that. You have choices.”

“Not when the Mustering is a month away, I will be called, I will serve. No one would be fool enough to think otherwise.”

“You don’t think your mother is a fool, do you?”

I shook my head, she knew better.

“Mother, I know you worry, I know you want more for me, but you’ve never stopped me, you’ve never forced my path.”

“I should have. I listened to your grandmother, let you have your illusions. Let you pretend you could live that life. How much longer do you think you hide the truth from them? What if they find out you’ve been lying to them?” she snapped.

If I were still a child, perhaps I would have crushed the cup of water in my hand. Yesterday, I could have thrown it, striking the wall, or even striking her. I couldn’t today. I was no longer a child. I knew what was right, and I had sworn vows.

Acting in violence would be a wrong deed. The thoughts were ill enough to chill me worse than a fever.

I turned back to my meal. Only when I finished eating, did I let myself speak again.

“I have said no untrue words to them. Excuse me, I have to go.” I said. I might be rude to leave so abruptly, but with all my food eaten I had done no wrong.

That didn’t stop the tears.

It was just after midnight when they woke us.

I knew I’d hate today, I knew as soon as I rose from my bedroll and looked up in the sky to see the red moon lighting a cloud in the shape of a boat at sea. Bad omen to start the day.

My gear felt heavy as I put it on, the metal weighing me down more than usual.

It didn’t get better on the chow line.

Meat stew for breakfast was never a good sign. Warm meat stew when you could tell the meat wasn’t from any kind of rat, that just made a bad thing worse.

The cooks didn’t even put that much sawdust into the pot. Giving us peasants a treat.

Somebody up top had passed the word, and if the officers hadn’t bothered to prepare us for the orders they’d be given soon, well, the rankers who weren’t going to put their lives on the line knew what to do for the lucky souls who had to throw their bodies into the grinder.

I ate it like it was my last meal, savoring every rich spoonful.

Might be me who wouldn’t return. Worth enjoying this one, as little as I could.

Sargeants didn’t bother with close inspection, just counted the numbers to make sure all fifty-seven of us were hale and breathing.

“Hey, hey, Zels,” whispered another dog standing next to me while the stripes were double-checking their roster, “you want to share an hour in the flower-tent tonight?”

“What, you’re asking that today?” I growled at Kiff, who probably needed to soak for a good two hours just to make a dent in the dirt crusting his uniform.

“Guy’s got to have hope, that the day will end well.” he responded with half a smile, all he could do with the scars on his face.

I didn’t feel like disappointing him today, despite my own misgivings.

“Fine, but I get the first soak, and the last rinse. And you spring for a scrubdown.”

“You saying I’m not pretty enough for you? I thought you were sweet on me after I pulled your bacon out of that last fire.”

“Kiff, you ain’t pretty enough for a blind pig to lick if you were covered with butter. No matter what it owes you. But if your gods or mine bring us both back today, I’ll be charitable and make the sacrifice. Least I could do for you.”

He laughed at that.

“That’s a deal, then Zels, I swear it by the Spider and the Sea-Father.” he said before spitting on the ground, “And if one of us doesn’t make it, well, witness that they pay for the other’s fun.”

I had to shake my head at that, “Oh, you expect me to pay for your bath? After I die? By the sea and waves, if I don’t return, I’ll spring for you to get a full night in the flower-tent then. Not that you’d be doing anything except sleeping for most of it.”

I spat on the ground myself, “Sworn by the Spider and the Sea-Father, it’s a deal, split an hour, or a whole night for you on me.”

Might as well, I had enough saved up in my account, it wasn't like the money would do me any good on the other side.

They put us in the wagons after that, rather than making our tender feet march through what was left of the night. Took till almost dawn, and I spent most of it trying to find sleep again.

We rolled to a stop behind a line of trees that fronted right on an open field with a tower standing on top of a short till. One the enemy had taken recently, too recently to properly reinforce. Or so the Lord General hoped.

The Captain put us in the places he wanted us for the assault. I was in the first wave, Kiff was in the fourth. Must be his lucky day.

I fingered my shark-tooth necklace. Let the sharp edges draw a trickle of blood.

“Salt of the Sea, Foam of the Wave, Breath of the Storm, carry me safe today.” I prayed before coming to the edge of the woods with the others who drew the short straw. Some of them were reciting their own prayers, to their own gods, or maybe to any who would listen.

Wasn’t more than a few dozen steps out of the cover before a fireball blasted out of the tower and crashed into the woods, I didn’t turn back to look, but I heard the crackle of a bolt of lightning as one of our wizards tossed a spell back at them. Then another, and another, arcing across the field, matched with the incendiaries still coming from ahead.

An arrow bounced off my helm as I ran forward. Then another glanced off my knee, slowing me down a bit. I kept running though.

Some archer must be cursing, but apparently, they weren’t going to be the one to kill me today. Not with their bow anyway. I let myself work up a frenzy as I ran, maybe I’d get a chance to pay their dues.

I wasn’t the first at the base at the tower, but I wasn’t the last to jump over the trench dug around it. The battered gate stood open, our wizard had blasted right through it, and stunned the few guards, giving us a short fight before we rushed up the stairs.

That was tougher, I wet my blade twice. Saw a few comrades fall. That made my rage grow. Red fury giving me strength. Letting me jump over the defenders, rush up to one of the levels where their archers had been stationed. Two men and a woman.

The two men fell to my swings before noticing my arrival, but the third was alert enough to put up a fight, pulling a short blade of her own, spitting black hexes out of her mouth that came for me like tiny wasps.

I lurched forward, stung by her efforts, but not enough to keep me from my business.

My sword battered hers aside, knocking it out of her hands to clatter on the stone floor.

I dropped my own in a fit of madness, wanting to wrestle her down, to grab her with my own hands, and I did, pressing her to the ground.

“How, how did you survive? I’ve never failed to kill any man I set my eye on!” she yelled at me in anguished despair.

I laughed. Then I pounded my forehead into her face.

“Too bad I’m no man.” I told her. Not that she heard me.

Kiff paid for my hour in the flower-tent that night. Poor bastard didn’t even make it out of the trees.

I walked in near darkness, to a place I knew well, but with a purpose that was new to me. My task was simple, I had a message to deliver, simple and short, a few words, but the time was short, I knew I had little of the day left.

The sun was close to setting, its remaining rays of light barely guiding my way through the nearly empty streets. Not a single torch burned anywhere in this part of the city.

Most of the people who lived here abided by the ways of my people and the ones who did not, they knew enough to be discreet. For now.

Later, some few, made brave by drink or desire, might dare to walk the streets, to risk the perils of this night, but even they would not wish to call attention to themselves by carrying a beacon to reveal their presence.

Plates of spiced sweets and cups of sugared milk were left on the thresholds of every building I passed, but even with the hunger in my belly, I knew to ignore the offered temptation. I had to reach my destination before the world plunged into darkness.

It was hard though, even when I reached the one I sought, the stairs were laden with assorted items, little twisted knots of string, scattered beads of colored glass, even puzzling riddles written on scraps of paper. Clever traps to bedevil the unwelcome.

I walked carefully to avoid disturbing them, lest they would fail in their purpose, and there was hardly more than a tiny sliver of the day left to me before I came to a door on the uppermost floor.

A garland of pink flowers hanging from the lintel offered a fragrant greeting as I prepared to knock. It was a message, on another night, it would be an alluring enticement, but on this one, it served as a warning that would have the wise running in fear.

Three times I struck the door, rapping with my knuckles, waiting for it to open, just a crack, and listening for the words of greeting.

“Who comes?” spoke the voice within, one I dreaded enough to chill my blood.

Repeating the question twice more, each time was harder on my ears.

I had to take a deep breath and almost choked on the mixed scents of the flowers and my own lingering perfume.

“I come, I come, I come,” I spoke in ritual chant, “To tell you, that your child is no more.”

The door opened fully then, and even in the dim light remaining, I could tell that a beautiful woman stood before me, dressed in the fine silks, face painted, golden hair woven with more of the pink flowers.

Only faint traces of tears showed to mar her appearance, a small sign that perhaps she’d been afraid she would remain alone tonight.

“Enter and be loved,” she said, the words allowing me to go inside, carefully stepping past her as she stood aside.

She grabbed at me sooner than I expected, taking me in a tight embrace, and pressing eager kisses at my face. She even began to pull at my robe, trying to remove it herself.

“No, please, please, no, stop,” I begged, trying to escape her clutching grasp, not wanting her hugs, let alone the caresses of her lips or for her to strip away my clothing.

She pulled back, reluctant to comply with my wishes, disappointed that I did not want the tender touches she gave me. She pulled down the garland of flowers in a swift yank, then shut the door, leaving us together in the darkness of a windowless room.

I couldn’t see her face, not anymore. I knew how she was looking at me even before I heard her sigh.

“I come to you, initiated into mysteries of her Awesome Majesty.”

A slap struck my face. I couldn’t duck the blow. I was barely fast enough to grab at her hand.

“Don’t lie to me. Tell me you didn’t go to the temple. Tell me you ran off with your friends instead. Tell me you missed the bells. Tell me you were too late. Tell me anything.”

I held onto her despite how it made me feel to touch her skin.

“Please mother, please believe me, I was there. I took the blessing.”

“You’re still a child, you’re my child. I can tell. You’re not ready.”

“I am born of your womb, mother, and always will be. I am old enough to make my own choices. Even if you don’t approve of them. Even if you want me to be someone else.”

“I want what’s best for you, I know I’ve hurt you before, but I have always wanted what’s best for you, you’re mine and always will be, and if you’re not prepared for what will happen at the Mustering then you’ll be hurt even more.“

“I know what to expect, mother. You’ve told me often enough. How it went for you. What you had to do.”

I released her from my grip, and she touched me again, finding my cheek in the darkness, it still stung where she had struck me, but this hurt more.

“Knowing from the story isn’t the same as knowing for yourself. Please, let me help you.”

“Not that way mother, I can’t serve that way.”

I pulled away from her, unable to stand the closeness. Angry how she kept pushing at me, no matter how much pain I felt, she wouldn’t, couldn’t stop.

I stumbled through the darkness to my sleeping pad. I wasn’t tired, not even close, but she might leave me alone if I pretended to sleep.

I found something waiting on my pillow. My fingers felt a velvety smoothness of fine fabric, and I knew it was a robe to match hers.

“I got that for you, I thought you’d like it,” she said as I heard her sit down beside me.

She loved me too much. Only it was the me she wanted me to be that she loved.

Not the person I was.

Like a thousand mornings before, I woke in the darkness the hour before dawn. It was quiet now, still, only the sound of breathing in the bedroom, in Mother’s bedroom, telling me I wasn’t alone. She wasn’t alone either. There was the occasional rasping snore to tell me that, from a man too drunk to stumble his way out after he’d finished.

I immediately began washing clean with the perfumed water, I didn’t much like the smell, but I knew better than to skip the ritual ablutions. Mother had bought it specially for me. A rare act of generosity.

My robe was still as threadbare and patched together as ever. Perhaps I might beg for another, she might accede. A child’s garment was no longer appropriate.

I was finally of age. Today I would be welcomed as an initiate into new mysteries, granted another step on the paths of wisdom.

I was almost tempted to leave without preparing anything for a breakfast, but I didn’t want a scolding when I got home. Or risk a beating if she decided to be angry at me.

No matter how this day ended, she was still my mother, as she always would be.

Even if I wanted to stay away a few days, I couldn’t. I had to return to her. At least we’d be alone together, no man would risk sharing a woman’s bed once the sun set.

Not this night.

So instead of leaving immediately, I filled a pot with water and the tea leaves she liked, then put a spoonful of porridge to soak in another pot of water, with a covered bowl of cut fruits beside, if the man wanted something else, he could have someone else make it.

Not that there was much else to choose, Mother kept that much of the law, even more stridently than most of our neighbors. That was a matter of pride, a way to look down on them.

I doubt he’d care. Mother did not seek out men for their virtues.

More likely he’d be stumbling out on his own, seeking to purchase something better to eat with whatever coin was left in his purse.

I saw it on the floor in front of the door before I left, piled with the rest of his clothes. I

stepped carefully around it, I’m no thief.

The darkness in the stairwell didn’t bother me, my eyes were keen enough that I didn’t fear tripping as I moved quickly down the stone steps.

The day had yet to officially begin, most people were still in their own beds, but others were hard at work already, including the bakery on the ground floor, its ovens lit and warm, they’d be dark later, the fires banked and cooling.

Three whole days before they’d be lit again. So there would be bread and other meals cooking all day, every rack and tray as full as possible. I could smell them already, the thick redolent aroma as rich as it had been almost every morning since I was old enough to remember coming here with my grandmother. Only on the holy days were they ever close to empty, with the smell of ashes a lingering remnant.

A crowd of women bustled in the room before me, brightly lit enough to blind my dark-adjusted eyes so I could only see them as moving shadows in my vision. Still, I knew some were preparing to serve a morning meal in the markets, or putting them in baskets that the younger women might carry back to their families. A few were probably even eating themselves.

On most days, I might have asked for a bite of some treat or another, but today it was merely a torment to imagine the delightful taste on my tongue.

“Dawn’s Light, child,” called old Yamma Kutherine in greeting as I entered her kitchen, the bakery was hers, this whole entire building and shares of three others besides, “are you well on this glorious day?”

She was sitting on a stool by one of her ovens, and I bowed before her, three times, out of respect for her age, for her kindness, and to honor her friendship. Then I clapped my hands together before speaking.

“Night’s Fall, Eldest, I am well, today I go to be blessed in the temple, and to beg to enjoy the glories of our Sublime Mother should I be graced with her Kiss.”

She stuck out a hand, skin aged and wrinkled, veins bold on the back, her flour-dusted fingers beckoned me closer, and as I came up to her, she reached out and stroked my short hair.

“Ay, it is that day for you, I know. They’ll be proud of you. You remind me so much of them, you know that, don’t you?”

“My grandmother, and…”

I did not think I wanted to resemble my mother. I did not think she’d ever take pride in me.

And nobody knew my father, not even to guess whether he was among a given thousand men.

“You never knew him, but your hair, it’s so like your grandfather’s.” she said, “a pity you cut it so short. Your Yamma would never have asked that of you.”

I knew that, but I had honored her life with the gift of my hair anyway. I could still feel the sharpness of the razor flying over my scalp as the barber shaved it off, leaving only one solitary lock remaining. Months had passed, and it had only barely begun to grow back.

“It was a small price, I gave it freely, had I a hundred heads, it would not have been enough,” I answered as I choked back tears. I remembered the burning too, the stink of a thousand pieces of hair tossed in the censer.

I shook my head pushing away the memories, “I must go, Eldest, I must be there before the bells ring.”

She clapped her hands together in dismissal, and I left at a run, not to get to my destination, but fleeing, desperate to escape the crushing weight of my past. If only I knew where to go.

The flame danced in the wind, I kept staring at it so it wouldn’t, so it couldn’t go out, I wasn’t going to let that happen, I wanted the candle to burn all the way.

Beads of wax had already dripped down, making little puddles on the chocolate frosting, but that didn’t bother me. I wasn’t planning on eating the cupcake anyway, it wasn’t for me.

Lightning flashed in the distance, and the rumbling boom of thunder followed a few seconds later. The summer storm was coming.

That’d ruin the cupcake for sure, even if the wind didn’t blow it off onto the ground, the rain would surely soak it.

Didn’t matter, I knew that. The cupcake could sit here forever, it’d never be touched, never get tasted, never be eaten.

“I baked it for you, Mom, I thought you’d like one, to celebrate. I know, it’s not my birthday, it’s not your birthday, it’s not anybody’s birthday, not really, but you know, you know, I think you’d like what day it would have been.”

I try not to cry.

“If I’d let it. But I couldn’t. I just couldn’t let that day happen.”

I leave the graveyard before the rain begins to fall.

The candle was still burning.

Dear reader, I wish I could tell you that the vampires survived.

I can’t. We didn’t check on them, not after clearing the mission parameters. We left the zone of operations once we secured the payload.

But I did leave the cage door open. There’s a chance, a chance they made it out on their own.

There’s a chance they got away before the thunder came down.

That’s all we could do for you. Give you a little hope.

I slipped the note inside the paperback, and left the coffee shop before its owner returned, before I was spotted.

I didn’t think I’d be recognized, not here, not now, but I did not want to try to manage a conversation, there were some explanations I didn’t want to make.

Tiffany joined me outside, holding a carry package loaded with a dozen cups.

All sugary espressos. Extra cream. Disgusting.

“Are you sure you don’t want anything?” she asked, lip twisted as she looks down at me.

She knows what I did. She could have stopped me. It’s against the rules. Even for somebody who is on the inside, we’re supposed to keep secrets.

She should have stopped me.

She didn’t. She’s the one who held off. Didn’t wipe the site clean.

Besides, that note was nothing. A bit of paper with some writing on it.

Just a little breach in operational security. Deniable. She’s keeping a bigger secret for me.

Well, not keeping it. Helping me dispose of a problem. I couldn’t have come here without her, well, I could have, but there would be records of my travel, and somebody might put two and two together and come up with three or four reasons to start asking questions.

Annoying ones. With answers I didn’t want to give.

“I suppose your appointment went well.” she says as she takes a drink from her first cup, she’ll drain the whole bundle before long. Needs the energy she says. Tired. That’s what she reported to the watch office. Might be a day before she gets back. Two even.

They probably figure she wants an overnight. Have some fun, relax, after a messy party, let some charming bit of distraction block the memories with a bit of entertainment.

Pick some hapless puppy off the street and play with him till he can’t go no more, and if she needs more, well, it’s just a matter of picking up another toy.

“As well as could be expected,” I reply, “nothing I didn’t know. Going to need to follow up in a couple of days. I can’t go back. Not yet.”

She runs her finger through the shining strands of her golden hair. A man passing by stops to stare. He’d probably offer to cosign on an apartment lease for her just for that.

If she winked at him, well, assuming he lived through the experience, he’d leave his wife and kids.

They didn’t deserve that, and neither did he. Probably.

I ran my own fingers up in the air, and he suddenly remembered a pressing engagement, jogging off without looking back. Everybody around us on the street finds a reason to be somewhere else. Anywhere else.

“I’ll find a place, don’t worry about it.”

She took my hand. The contact stung. Fire meets ice.

“You can’t hide in an alley like a homeless bum, you need to stay somewhere safe, somewhere secure. Somewhere that won’t cause more problems.”

Her eye flashed green. Any man who looked in her face right now would drop at her feet and beg her for the grace of whatever she wanted to do to him.

I wasn’t moved. I stared right back at her.

“Are you worried about me? Do you think I can’t take care of myself?”

“No, you know I’m not worried about you. You know I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing this because your little problem needs to be handled. Properly. You’d mess it up. Like you already have. You’re a lucky little snot that I’m willing to help. That’s why I brought you here, and why I’m going to make sure you have somewhere to stay.”

Her voice is flat and even. But that’s because she’s keeping her anger in check.

She didn’t like what I wanted to do any more than I did. What I had to do.

I took a breath. Arguing wouldn’t help. Fighting wouldn’t. Not that I had a chance to win, not against her. I just wanted to do it. I wanted my own distraction.

“Fine, whatever. As long as they don’t make me listen to any stupid songs.”

She laughs. It’s cruel how beautiful it sounds.

“Listen? Girl, they’ll make you sing along. It’s just what you deserve.”

It really is. I lied. I killed all the drinkers myself.

I didn’t give them a chance. I took it away.

I made a mistake coming here. I made a mistake in not keeping my focus.

It’s bad to let yourself be distracted. Deviate from your mission.

I can’t help myself.

I watch and listen with fascination at the scene unfolding before me. It’s shocking.

A display of such abominable proportions that I can’t close my eyes and turn away.

I can’t believe they allow this sort of thing in such a sacred place.

It’s disgusting. Something like this happening in a library. It’s almost unbelievable.

“And they all lived happily after.” said the voice of the story-teller as the little children gathered in a swarm at her feet started to applaud with joy at the ending. They’d been enthralled for the past thirty minutes, rapt with attention, focused on the words of the story, and looking at the pictures from the book as she held them up.

Such a horrible person.

Lying to children. Telling them about happy-endings.

Not preparing them for the cold hard realities of life.

The monsters. I should do something. I should save them.

I should stand up and tell the kids the truth, that no woman spends her days in a house with seven hard-working guys and only does the cooking and cleaning.

I should tell them that no handsome prince comes riding up on his white stallion to sweep you away.

I should tell them that the huntsman isn't interested in saving anyone from the wolf, he's just another kind of predator.

I should warn them.

I can’t. I can’t even tell them about the reality of working in a mine, the hard drudgery of it, the way it leeches away the health of the workers, the dangers, the exploitation, the consequences.

It’s not a bunch of singing. It’s a hushed oppressive silence that eats away at you.

I chew my lip, feeling the silver ring going through it, keeping the words I want to shout inside, hidden, restrained.

I dare not speak the truth. They can’t handle the truth.

I turn my focus away, back to the paper I’m supposed to be writing, the little blue lines holding the words in place, the black ink contrasting against the whiteness of the sheet.

I’m telling a story myself, words painting a picture for the mind.

So you want to know what I did last summer, whether this is to settle your insatiable curiosity or because you can’t think of a more interesting assignment than this hackneyed approach to pretending you have any concern for the lives of your students outside your classroom, I can’t say I know yet. Perhaps I will learn. Learn more than I want to know. Or it could be you who cries out in lamentation.

I scratch that out. It’s not a good way to start.

My summer of fun by Morgan Weathers. I had a lot of good fun this summer, the early part with all my friends, it was great doing things together with them. For the last time, ever. It will never be the same again, not now.

More scratches. I can’t go with that. It’s too ominous.

Summer was a season I’ll never forget unless I should happen to suffer some traumatic brain injury which would be a blessing to me because then I would not remember it.

And another sheet ruined. I take it and crush it in my hand, adding to the balls already crowding the table. I pull out another piece of paper. I know what I have to do.

I need to keep myself from telling the truth. I need to commit to a lie. Any lie. Just one. One tiny lie, and make the reality bend to that deception.

I don’t want to do it.

“Do you need any help?” says a voice at my shoulder.

I turn, surprised somebody would come to me with that offer.

Dressed in a pleated skirt and brightly colored vest, brown hair tied in a braid. It’s the junior assistant librarian in training who was entertaining the children earlier.

With lies. Liar. Fraud.

“I’m just having a little trouble starting with my homework, the teacher, well, you know how they think it’s a good idea for us to write about our summers to start the year off.”

“Oh, you don’t like it? I always like writing about my summers.” she cooed, “I almost wish I could live them all over again.”

She’s beaming so much she doesn’t notice my shudder.

“Who do you have? Freshman, right? Is it Cartwright?”

I nod, her voice is so bubbly, I wish I could bottle it up.

“I liked her, I think I learned a lot, though maybe Newton might have been better, but she retired now so I guess you don’t have to worry. Not that I’m saying the new teacher is bad, but I don’t know him at all.”

She stops and smiles.

“He is very handsome though, isn’t he? I almost wish I had signed up for Yearbook this year, but I had to drop an elective to double on science. I suppose it’s more useful. For college.”

She pauses after a moment.

“Enough about me, are you taking Yearbook? I thought I saw you coming out of the classroom, you’re easy to recognize. Very, ” she searches for a word, before finishing with the simple truth of “unique.”

“No, I, well, I’m new here, I just moved, so I figured I would pick up a copy of last year’s, so I could, well, learn who everybody was. Or had been. Just to see. He let me borrow one.”

“Well, isn’t that clever of you. But you really should try to get out and know people more socially. Hey, would you like to come to a party? I know some people who won’t mind meeting a stranger.”

“I don’t know, I’m still kinda adjusting, I’m not sure.” I reply with just a touch of nervousness, “I wouldn’t know hardly anyone.”

“Don’t worry about it, that’s the whole point of a party, getting out, be friendly and you’ll be fine.”

She takes a scrap of paper, and writes down a number.

“Look, you just give me a call, if you change your mind.” she says before leaving.

I look at it, the numbers are different, they change all the time, but written just like always, even the spot of ink, and I know what’s going to happen when I go.

It won’t be the same. I don’t want it to be the same. Not again. Never again.

I’ll take care of the problem here. This time.

The needle tore a hole, I didn’t bleed, but it still hurt.

I didn’t let myself flinch. Mostly.

Biting my lip, I focused on the ceiling, looking at one spot, a stain where some water had leaked, down all the way from the roof, maybe. It looked like a lizard and a wizard. The wizard was eating the lizard, he must have been hungry. Desperately hungry. Or maybe it was a bird.

Weren’t chickens related to lizards? I swear I heard they were little stupid dinosaurs somewhere.

“Are you sure you don’t want anything?” asked the doctor working his suturing skills on me. He didn’t like what he was doing. What he was fixing. He was old enough, he had to see things like this before. Lots of times.

At least he seemed to have a nice hand with the stitches. Lots of experience sewing

people up over the years.

“Do you want to tell me how this happened?” he asked, just before he finished.

“I would have thought you learned about this kind of thing in Medical school, if nowhere else. You must have lived a sheltered life. Choir-boy, maybe?”

He did have a voice that was close to a tenor, I could imagine him singing sweet music in the church pews.

Listening to him offer praises, blessings, thanks for all that is good in the world.

Not the kind of lyrics in my ballad. Mine’s more like angry screaming with a side of pyrotechnics.

“You know that’s not what I mean,” he said as he pulled a final knot tight. Probably a little quicker than he needed. I was getting to him.

“Ow. Ow. Ow. You really want the gory details?”

He held my gaze for longer than I thought he would. A whole second and a half.

“We can help you if there’s someone hurting you. There are people who can make sure you’re safe, you don’t need to stay with somebody who treats you”

“You’re the one hurting me,” I told him as he pulled off his gloves.

He had nice fingers, the long kind, he probably could do things that didn’t quite hurt.

Not the same way anyhow. I wonder if he’d be up for a neck rub.

That could be pleasant. Better than what he had been doing. Mine was getting sore, the way he had me laying on his exam table. His might be too, the way he had to bend down to work on me.

“That’s only because you won’t let me give you anything for the pain,” he said with a hint of frustration as he wrote a note on his folder.

The name wasn’t mine, I knew that. He knew it. But he had to have records. The details were true, but the innocent were protected. Long after I needed it, but that wasn’t his fault.

“So you’re blaming me, huh? That really hurts, doc, it stings. You know that’s why I’m here, somebody blamed me for what happened. But it took two to tango.”

I put my hands to my chest, holding them together, wiggling the fingers, suggestively.

It had been more than two, actually, a lot of people got me here, a lot of actions. Only some I regretted.

He took a deep breath.

“You know I am not blaming you, it’s just you, well, you seem to be in a bad situation, and I’d like to get you out. If you’re willing to take some help.”

He was very nice, the way he kept trying with me.

“You got me out of the bad situation, the problem is solved, I’ll go on my way as soon as you let me, and nobody will even know, just me and you. You won’t tell anybody will you, it’ll be our secret? I can make it special nice for you if it’ll help. I could show my appreciation, thank you for what you’ve done for me. I know you’d like it.”

I batted my eyes, extra flourishes.

He flinched away. Put a couple of more feet between us. He probably shouldn’t have let me talk him into getting us alone. But I wanted to be cozy. Just the two of us. Alone.

Together.

I couldn’t stand for anybody else to see me like this, not even a nurse.

“That’ll be enough of that,” he had a stern look on his face, “you know better, I know you don’t have to act as if you were…”

He knew the words. He didn’t want to finish the sentence.

“But I like how I act, doc,” I smiled at him, “it’s so much better this way.”

“Is it really? I don’t think you’re happy with your choices, with the way things have gone.”

“I’m happy that it’s an act. Don’t you think it’s better than being real and authentic? I love the fakeness, it’s the best part.”

He didn’t have an answer for that. He just huffed and puffed.

“You know how to keep the sutures clean, and to come back if there’s any sign of infection?”

“Not my first rodeo, wasn’t my first ride on a bucking bronco either. I’ve had some experience, beginning around three years ago. Met a real cowboy, took me around, showed me the sights.”

He blinked at that. Did the math in his head.

“I didn’t realize, you would have been...I thought you were...”

He knew the fancy word he wanted to use. I did too. I’ve done a crossword puzzle too, and I didn’t even have to take my clothes off for it.

“That isn’t right,” he said. As if I didn’t know that already.

Dirty world some of us live in, not at all clean.

“It’s ok, doc, it was in another life. You know, the kind you only think you live, the kind you remember like it was a dream.”

That’s the way I try to handle it anyway. Bundle it up like a ball of clothes, and toss it away, believing it happened to another person, somebody else, who just shared everything with me.

Sometimes I even believe the lie.

This was the moment, my enemy was defeated. Yet my victory was hollow, empty.

Worthless.

I felt no sense of triumph. I could not cheer in celebration.

I had done murder for nothing.

The hammer slipped from my hands, my fingers losing their grip on the shaft, letting it fall to the floor with a clang. The noise rang in my ears, I was afraid I had broken a tile.

Or worse, woken somebody up. That would be bad. Trouble.

I sat down, the only place I could, counting my breaths.

In and out.

Exhale and inhale.

Control the system. Master the body. Rule the self.

The mind is above the flesh.

The words did not stop the fear running through my body. My heart raced. Blood pounded.

Something had to happen. I knew there was danger here.

I waited. Nothing. Just silence.

I looked at myself in the mirror. Focused on my eyes, I could see the pupils were open with excitement, signs of agitation.

Despite my efforts, what I kept telling myself, my fears were running rampant.

I had killed the spider, it was dead, body crushed, smashed, broken.

But what if there was another one?

In this house, somewhere, lurking, spinning its web. Even in this very bathroom, hiding up in a corner, looking at me with its eyes, thinking of how it could catch me, trap me in its web, suck away my vitals.

I couldn’t handle this alone. I wasn’t strong enough. I needed help.

I knew where to get it.

…

I walked down the hall, not turning on a light, I was confident in where I was going.

I didn’t want to see any more spiders, just in case. The ignorance of the darkness was my only shield, my thin layer of protection. A feeble defense.

The door I needed was open, it was always open to me. Never locked, never barred.

Not to me.

And there was a light on. He was reading. I liked that, I approved, it was a good thing for him to do in bed. Not like other stuff. Stuff I didn’t like. Like eating potato chips.

Disgusting stuff.

“Precious, do you need something?” he asked, not raising his eyes from his book.

“Daddy,” I said, “can I get in bed with you? I don’t feel safe.”

He looked at me, I knew what he was thinking. I was too big for this. I shouldn’t need him, I should be strong on my own. He should tell me to go back to my new room and relax.

He ought to make me grow up.

He put down his book, and patted the sheet next to him, and smiled.

“Come here, sweetie, I know it’s hard for you, I’m sure you’re scared, one night won’t hurt, but no making a habit of this.”

I got on the bed next to him, slid beneath the blankets, put my head on his shoulder. I felt his strength, his warmth, I knew I was safe here, right now.

“Thank you, Daddy, I needed this.”

His hand ran through my hair, down to my ear, touching the new piercing, I didn’t flinch. I let him touch me, let him soothe me, embraced the comfort he offered.

“What scared you?”

I turned my head, buried it in a pillow. Felt the cotton softness, tried to hide in it.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

He gave me a kiss, right on the back of my head, and I heard him turn out the light.

He left me alone, a silent presence next to me. He was there for me. A guardian at my side.

It was enough for me to pass the gates into slumber.

…

I woke up alone.

My eyes saw only darkness. I no longer felt the mattress beneath me, the warmth of my father at my side. All gone.

I was no longer safe.

I rested on sand, cool and gritty, and bitter with the taste of salt in my mouth.

I knew where I was, I knew I had been called, that I had a purpose here.

But what I had I passed beneath, the horn or the ivory? That knowledge eluded me.

Perhaps they had twisted together, bending to mix truth and deception.

I could have wandered forever, seeking a destination in the gloom, but they came for me, as I knew they would.

“How could you think that was right?”

“Do you know what you’ve done?”

“I can’t believe you did that!”

“You’re a fool!”

“Monster!”

“Killer!”

“Idiot!”

I knew them well, recognized them easily, their voices were as familiar as my own.

I knew they would come for me, seek me out, hunt me down.

They had come to judge me. A jury of my peers, and even before the evidence had been presented, I was condemned. The conviction was secured. I knew I was guilty, I could not plea for innocence, not against myself.

“I’m sorry.” was all I could mouth.

“You think that matters?”

“We’ll never forgive you!”

“After what you’ve done!”

“You killed it!”

“You murderer!”

“You who…”

“That will be enough, girls.” A new voice, younger, softer, clearer. But I knew it too.

I dared to look in the direction of her voice, and saw her, sitting on a rock that stood up from the stand, dressed in white, surrounded by a light of her own, a light that let me see the others, dressed in black, their faces harsh, their eyes cold, as they stood around me in a circle.

She was smiling. Her dark hair glistened, her blue eyes shone, her lips were bright and warm.

“She knows what she did, she knows she did wrong, she would not be here, she could not come here until she admitted it.”

She patted the stone next to herself, the nails on her hand shining like silver pearls.

“Come child, come to me. Sit down, we’ll talk.”

I didn’t want to go to her, but I knew I had no choice. I could only go to her, and place myself at her side, and wait. I leaned against her, knowing she wanted that, wanted me close to her, still wanted me. Wanted me to surrender. That’s why she had come.

She waved to the others, and they faded away, disappearing into the gloom, leaving me alone.

“I know why you did it. I can understand being willing to pay the price. It will cost you.” she told me in her gentle voice.

I nodded in agreement. I couldn’t argue with her.

“And then there will be your punishment.”

She gave me a kiss, right on my forehead.

That’s when I began to hurt.