CHRISTINE

She could Feel them in her mind though, their attentions wrapped up in each other to the exclusion of all else, their minds together creating a single melody of joined beings and powerful emotions that it almost hurt to Feel. Then she Felt them pull slightly back from each other and get down to business, paying attention to what was going on in the room. Still, she knew that if she looked over at them, she would find their eyes still locked in that love-filled gaze.

She had been a little stunned and jealous when Dezi had appeared dressed in her leather and with her hair that amazing shade of blond and cut in such a chic, short fashion. And her skin… it was so fair and perfect that it made Christine feel like an ugly duckling, what with the faint spattering of freckles across her nose and the zit forming just above her left eyebrow. It was just so unfair that anyone could look like that, and here there were three, maybe even four of them.

She couldn’t fault Lianndra for being so beautiful; it was simply the way he was. But Dezi was absolutely gorgeous, Chris was amazing and that guy Bran was like liquid sex. It really wasn’t fair that she had to be so plain; compared to them she seemed terribly unattractive, maybe even ugly.

There was no reason for so many attractive people to be in one room, especially with her to be used as a comparison between their fantastical looks and the appearance of normal people. It just wasn’t fair.

LIANNDRA

Lianndra looked at Gregor where he sat between Bran and Ralph, a hand in each of their laps, idly squeezing and petting. His eyes were inscrutable as he looked at Lianndra levelly. Somehow Lianndra got the impression that Gregor would have thrown both Bran and Ralph out the window just to be able to sit next to him. There was something almost flattering about that. Sure.

"I want you to do what you always do, keep a sharp lookout and your mouth shut. I’m authorizing the use of one hundred thousand dollars for you to get me as much information as you can about the vampire Leif Asher."

Gregor cocked his head. "Aidan Quinn? You mean the Darkborn, right?"

Lianndra nodded.

"Why would you want information on him? He doesn’t have anything to do with Tispith, I don’t think, anyway."

Lianndra gave a grim smile. "I know. He’s never even met the Queen, at least, I don’t think he has. Anyway, I want information on him in case I survive this whole thing. I’m going to need it later, when I get back."

Gregor nodded his head affirmative that he would dig up the dirt on Asher, not even knowing or really caring why Lianndra needed information on the best assassin in the business. The answer was obvious: Lianndra wanted someone dead and he didn’t want to be the one blamed for it, so he couldn’t go in on his own. It was as simple as that.

"One more thing, Gregor," Lianndra said. "I need a couple of volumes of your chronicles, say volumes ‘D’ and ‘M.’"

Now that was a little more serious than a little old thing like premeditated murder. "Are you really sure you want to go in for that sort of thing?" Gregor asked, a little fearfully.

Lianndra just looked at him for a silent moment, then nodded his head in a slow assent. He was absolutely certain about what he had to do.

Gregor blew out a breath and stood up, his expression almost painfully solemn as he crossed the living room to a padlocked cabinet against the wall. He twirled the dial and unclipped the lock, then slowly opened the door halfway, then reached in to unhook the booby trap clasp that would have pulled the trigger of the German Luger aimed directly at his heart. He opened the door, swung the gun out of the way, to reveal three shelves covered in antique china in the finest condition.

He barely spared a glance at thousands of dollars worth of china as he turned the tiny hook on the side of the cabinet. There was a faint clicking sound and the paneled wall with the shelves attached to it swung out to reveal a secret storage area.

He drew in a deep breath as he ran the tips of his fingers along the leather spines of the books shelved inside the cabinet in alphabetical order, tiny gold letters written at the tops of their spines. They were like a set of encyclopedias, A through Z, three books for each letter, big, heavy books. He pulled out the six books that encompassed "D" and "M" then carried them back over to the couch and the coffee table, holding them as if they were delicate and precious. It was a little strange, considering the books looked practically indestructible and probably weighed thirty pounds each.

Lianndra accepted them graciously, not even seeming to notice their weight. "If I’m right…" he muttered to himself, starting with the "M" books, which he figured would be easier than "D."

Pursing his lips as he flipped through the index of the first book, he tossed that one aside and moved on to the next book. It was the second book that held the information he was looking for.

In capital letters across the tops of pages 140-180 was the name: MAGNUS DeSOLEI.

He made a faint sound of victory and began to read the summarized history of his enemy. He was over a third done with it when he came across what he was looking for, a way to maybe beat Magnus at his own game.

He whistled soundlessly through his teeth as he read:

Lianndra brought his mind into sharp focus as he set aside the "M’s" and brought out the "D’s." Quickly he ran through the indexes until he came across the Dragon.

He stared long and hard at that name, written in bold black against the slightly yellowed pages of the book. The spidery handwriting that was usually so hard to read was suddenly clear.

This was what he had been looking for, what he needed to even contemplate facing the Dragon.

He was so focused that he didn’t hear the thumps, mock growls, laughter and talking of the others. In this moment, they didn’t exist for him; all that mattered was the Dragon and whether he would win or lose the battle he would soon face.

This was not good, not good at all.

There was only one thing that he could do, something that felt obscenely like cheating. But he knew that there was nothing else he could do. Not if he wanted to come out of this alive.

He flipped to the very last page of the Dragon’s biography and stared down at the scrap of dirty, old cloth that lay revealed.

For every vampire written about in the chronicles, there was a memento picked up or stolen from each. There were fingernail clippings, bits of hair, scraps of cloth torn from their clothes, even drops of blood wiped up after a fight, anything and everything that could be gathered.

Underneath the scrap of cloth was a date: 2/5/1491. Beneath the date were the words: STOLEN FROM HIS SHIRT BEFORE HE DISCARDED IT AS A USELESS RAG DURING THE WITCH-HUNTS BACK IN ENGLAND. SOON AFTER THE SAMPLE WAS TAKEN, HE ESCAPED ON A SHIP TO AMERICA.

This was the answer to defeating the Dragon, but it was definitely going to give an unfair advantage to Lianndra. For a second he wallowed in honor and dignity and a need to not besmirch his already bloodstained soul, then he tossed such noble and useless feelings aside. This was business and honor had nothing to do with business.

He drew in a deep breath he didn’t need and brought the scrap of cloth close to his mouth, letting his breath blow over it. He felt a furnace sensation deep in the pit of his stomach. He released it to engulf the cloth.

In his mind, he let loose with a flow of thought; this was the most powerful kind of magic. The weakest kind was gestures, then there were incantations and finally the power of will. His will was strong and he would win.

He drew in his power until it was a tight ball deep within him, then released it.

CHRISTINE

Witches and warlocks think of themselves as being special, but in most cases they see the world in the same light the average person does. Yet now, for the first time, Christine began to see with clear eyes, and what she saw was both wonderful and terrible.

Lianndra was magnificent, like carved alabaster, a creature out of legend, or a legend in the making. His eyes glowed so blue that it was hard for her to look at them for fear she would go blind. His lips were rose-red, as if they had been kissed by an angel or painted with blood. His hair was like spun silver, so white and pure that not even newly fallen snow could match it for its untouched beauty.

Mostly, what drew her attention and held it, was the expression on his face, as though he was looking on the infinite possibility that is the universe, as though he understood the secrets of the ages. He was beautiful, no longer just the form of a little boy, but something more, something so old that it surpassed age itself. He was ageless and beautiful, so old that time ceased to have meaning for him; the years were shadows that troubled other beings, but no longer affected him.

She watched, fascinated, as he breathed on the bit of cloth and something came out from between his lips to surround it.

Christine was mesmerized by that tendril of blue light, by that bit of soul he had spun loose to help him in the work he did. She could see the light pulsating deep within him, traveling up and out through his mouth; it was the pure essence of Lianndra.

He was doing something she had only heard about, something that no witch had ever even attempted. It was thought to be impossible, not to mention incredibly dangerous. He was using his own essence to cast a spell powerful enough to crack the world in twain. She could only imagine the power he was wielding so effortlessly.

As though he could hear her thoughts, he looked up and gave her a twisted smile, then released his spell.

She felt power build within her, then release like the crashing of the tides against the inner walls of her uterus. She shuddered, her eyes closing as she simply breathed, all that she could do after such an earth shattering sensation. The universe, encompassed in those electric eyes so blue that the word almost ceased to have meaning, swallowed her whole, granting her a release so powerful and pleasurable it was almost, but not quite, pain.

DEZI

She sighed and turned her attention back to what Lianndra was doing. She wished she didn’t have to be here, she could feel the dangerous powers rising up, preparing to either bend to Lianndra’s will, or overtake him.

Magic was a risky business, and unless she was doing the casting she didn’t like to be around such things. If Lianndra lost control of what he was calling, well, the aftermath would be ten times the result of the Hiroshima bomb. That’s to say that years after they were all gone, children would be born sterile or deformed or cancerous.

She hated that kind of thing; she still remembered that whole 1812 incident. She still got the shudders thinking about it; three hundred and thirty men and women, their lives irrevocably changed by something they didn’t understand and never would. She felt sorry for them, but she really felt sorry for the children that were born afterward. Strange children were still being born today, all because Lazarus couldn’t contain the elements he had called up. Now Lianndra was doing something equally dangerous, maybe more so because there were so many human minds nearby to interfere with his concentration.

Suddenly she wondered when he had last Fed, or if he had done so while she and Chris had been gone. Hunger could interfere with a spell as almost nothing else could, like a demon gnawing at a person’s insides until they had no choice but to give in to their baser instincts.

She hoped he had Fed, was fairly sure he had, since Gregor would have pounced on him first thing. There was nothing like a vampire addict to wake you up to the night, voracious in their appetites, prepared to sacrifice all in their need to feel the prick of fangs against their necks. Lycanthrope blood was more potent than mortal blood. In their case, less was more, giving an incredible boost of energy that could last for days. Still, if Lianndra had decided to wait until later to Feed, they might have trouble on their hands.

Her thoughts were cut off when the rising power interrupted her brain’s natural processes. There was no way to think with the power rising up around her like the hunger of the Devil’s crows. There was something vaguely obscene about the power, almost as though it was touching her in a very private place. It was intrusive, cutting through her like a hot knife through butter. It had a faintly salty feel to it, or as she thought salt might feel inside of her mind. It was like mortal sex, yolky and filled with life, like an egg. She wished she was anywhere but here though, it was too dangerous and she was beginning to feel incredibly aroused and uncomfortable.

That was one of the worst things about powerful magics; most of the time they were sexual in nature. They raised feelings in her that she hadn’t felt since she was alive, making her feel awkward and stupid. She could tell that Chris was feeling something of the same by the way that he shifted under her. He was pressed tight against her, all hard and urgent, his need transmuting itself to her. She suddenly felt incredibly hot. The room was closing in tight around them.

"Come on, we have to get out of here," she whispered tightly.

He nodded a quick jerk of his head and stood, not letting her go. He strode quickly from the room, clutching her tightly in his arms, his breath puffing from between his lips even though he didn’t really need to breathe. The habits of life were hard to break.

CHRISTINE

One part of her mind noted the quiet exit of Dezi and Chris, but they were unimportant. They were as shadows compared to the wonderfully bright and powerful mind that was Lianndra.

His voice rose and fell in the cadences of his chant. At the same time, a steady stream of power flowed out of him, power that he was sucking out of everyone in the apartment to enhance his own magic.

The bit of rag he was focusing his power on began to glimmer and glow an incandescent blue.

His voice rose as the power gathered, holding it under a tighter and tighter rein. Finally, when his voice was like a hammer slamming against her ears straight into her brain and sweat gleamed on his face, though she didn’t notice that it was tinged with blood, he finished.

With one last, roaring Word, power flared and burst out of him and he fell to his knees, his head bowed, his hair stuck to his face with sweat. His hands hung limp at his sides and he looked as though he were immeasurably weary, so small, so young, so tired, as though he were a child up long past his bedtime.

She felt something thrum deep within her; it was the bit of rag. Only it was no longer a rag at all.

In place of that ragged scrap of cloth was a long, silver dagger. The hilt was engraved with runes in a language she couldn’t read. The blade shone in the light as he reached out and picked it up, holding it close to his face, then pressing it against his forehead. It shimmered with a wicked light that seared into her brain as power. For a second she thought she saw letters gleaming along the blade, terrible letters that spelled out someone’s doom, then the letter disappeared from her vision and she was relieved. Still, she would always remember those words, inscribed in a language that she did not recognize but that she instinctively knew: Vaerdiceth Draco. Dragon vengeance, fear and death, marking the dagger’s hunger for the consumption of a life and soul.

She knew instinctively, without even the need of her powers, that the blade was evil. There was terrible power here, a kind she had never seen before and never wanted to see again. Yet at the same time there was something seductive about that power. The evil drew her in some way that she couldn’t understand. Then she knew--Lianndra.

Lianndra had put a bit of himself into the blade, but mostly he had used the essence of his victim. This was a dagger made for death. It had a soul and that soul demanded blood.

She shuddered somewhere deep inside, but still stood there, frozen in shock and fear. This was a power such as she had never felt before, not even in the Crone and the Horned One.

Before she would have thought that there was no being more powerful than the Three Aspects, but now she knew that there was. He was before her now, beautiful and strange, an otherworldly creature that in a moment had shown her so much more than she had ever seen. It was as though she had tapped into some unknown well, and instead of water it had spouted liquid gold, priceless and precious.

This was what she had always dreamed of, coming into contact with true power.

Here he was, someone outside of the Aspects with a power that vibrated along her nerves with the crackle of electricity. He could teach her so very much; she could not leave, did not want to leave, never wanted to be away from him. This was where she had always been meant to be--with him. This was why she had always balked at becoming the Maiden, because it was a lifetime position that almost always ended in becoming the living Aspect of the Crone. Yet here she was and before her was the chance to be so much more than she had ever imagined. It made her think of a fork in the road; which path she took would decide the course of her life.

Without even a thought, she took the fork that would lead her to an eternity of service to her god.

It made her think of that book, The Heart is a Lonely Hunter, which basically said that everyone needed something to worship, something higher than themselves that they could aspire to. In the story, everyone saw the mute guy as being that something, as though he had some secret knowledge they didn’t, while at the same time, the guy he himself was looking up to was a crazy man with absolutely no manners or personal grace.

She hadn’t really liked the way things turned out in the book, but the idea of everyone needing something greater than themselves struck a chord in her mind. She needed a personal god, someone with the wisdom to guide her through life. She needed someone larger than herself, someone that could show her the way that life should be. What she needed was someone powerful and wise, someone like Lianndra, or rather, how she saw him as being.

And so, in that moment, in that dingy apartment with the werewolves and the vampires, with the dog and her puppies, she pledged her life into service. She would obey the commands that Lianndra gave her, she would do as he told her, no matter how much it hurt inside, no matter that her inner self slowly withered and died, bit by bit. In that moment, though she didn’t really know it, she gave away something precious to someone else, something she could never get back.

She would live her life for something larger than herself, would live for the blinding brightness of that mind she had touched for such a short time. For she had been changed by that light, made better and whole, yet at the same time, something inside her had been bled away. She was no longer the girl she had been just an hour before. She was changed, irrevocably.

CHRIS

He remembered, when he was a child, the time he was so sick that he could almost see the Grim Reaper grinning down at him in his hospital bed. That was what it felt like now, as though death were laughing at him.

As he snuggled closer to Dezi, listening to the last sounds of night, he knew that he would have the last laugh. Time didn’t mean anything to him now, he was immortal and he would live forever. He had kicked death’s butt and it felt good. Yet as he lay there, the curtains lightening, he knew he was afraid. What if he never woke up? What if he went on sleeping forever? That was the fear the sun brought, knowing that if it got you there would be nothing else, just a burning haze that consumed every part of you, leaving nothing behind.

He missed the sun though, couldn’t change the way he felt. He missed the way that it seemed to soak into his skin when he lay basking on a rooftop, trying to absorb as many rays as possible without burning. Now though, he didn’t have that luxury. He wouldn’t burn. He would combust. It was a terrible, terrible thing.

The night was drawing to a close around him, he could hear the voices of Lianndra and Gregor as they settled down for the day in Gregor’s room. He could hear Christine’s mortal heartbeat as she slept on the couch. He could hear the puppies making squeaking noises in their sleep. Most of all though, he could hear the dawn coming.

Dezi clasped him close to her, as though she felt his fear and was giving him all the comfort that he could take. She was letting him know that he wasn’t alone and that the sun was not some soul-consuming monster that would hunt him down.

It was strange, how close they had become in even such a short while. Before, when he was mortal, life had seemed so much harder, and for so many different reasons. Now, though life was still hard, it didn’t seem so very impossible. He supposed that he was growing up, though it seemed to be happening awfully fast.

It was hard to believe that just months’ ago he was playing basketball with friends, that he had been scrounging through the garbage for enough food to keep him going. It was hard to believe that his life had changed so quickly and so drastically. It felt as though Christopher James Devon had died, and this new boy, Chris the vampire, had taken his place.

There had been something in Lianndra’s blood, something that changed him in more than just body. It was as though he had become an adult in an instant, as though time had sped up inside of him, jerking him out of childhood and straight into reality.

He could never go back to the way he had been. He was changed forever. Yet somehow he didn’t mind, for in some way, everything was all right.

He was here now, waiting, dreading the coming dawn, yet he was different. The fear wasn’t the same kind of fear he had experienced as a mortal, it had a new and different flavor to it. He was stronger than he had ever been before. The sun didn’t frighten him in the same manner that a bully had when he was mortal. It was as though he were facing an enemy, knowing that he could fall, fearing that he could fall, but being brave enough to face the dangers anyway. He was more than he had ever thought he would be. He was a man now, a man in the body of a boy, in the body of eternal youth.

He would never have to dread the coming of age, because it wouldn’t touch him. He had time to do all the things he had ever even dreamed of doing. He had years and years and years to think about all of the things that needed to be done. Life was no longer a race for him, because he had passed it by.

Fear of age and death were what made people strive and strain to get ahead. He no longer had to fear such mundane things as gray hairs and wrinkles. Instead, he faced such issues as immortal monsters, terrible beings that might wish to destroy the world for no other reason than that they could do it. This was his new life, his new task to be performed.

Everything had suddenly been handed to him: immortality, riches beyond imagining and a love that burned brighter than the sun. He had been given everything he might ever have wanted, and he knew suddenly that he would fight to protect this new life. It was truly worth living, and he refused to throw it away the way he had his old life. He would live and grow and enjoy all he had.

His thoughts were interrupted by the real sun, which had finally risen to turn the horizon to gold. His body went heavy, his mind began to close. The last thing he felt was Dezi burrowing close. He felt her cool flesh against his own, going cooler as the life fled it.

When the day came, he would not dream, he would simply disappear. It would feel as though only a second had passed, as though he had simply closed his eyes and the day was gone.

His mind closed, his body went still and unmoving. It was morning.