4: Into Twos

"You know… Have you ever thought, maybe, Lory, that we could blow up a school?"

Magdalena, at this suggestion, dropped her spoon into her cereal bowl. Milk splashed.

"No," I replied to Jack, gingerly poking at my side. It didn't feel too bad, until I touched it. I had a massive, spectacularly-colored bruise, though—but it would heal. Nothing felt broken, at least, and I could breath all right again.

"Good for you, Lory," Magdalena said, smiling triumphantly at Jack. I ignored her, took a bite of toast, chewed, swallowed. Jack watched me. The Newly Dead watched me. We must seem so soap-operatic to them, I thought.

"For one thing," I said, "It would be too hard to get in. Arthur and Kit aren't good enough, yet, I think—no offense to either of you. And what would two twenty-somethings be doing in a high school or middle school? Besides, I don't think we've got enough explosives. We're dangerously low, and without… without Sidney…" I cleared my throat and went on. "School wouldn't work. But an after-school hangout for kids… Maybe that's feasible."

Magdalena's mouth dropped open. I looked across at her and tried not to smile behind my coffee cup—so she thought she could understand me, did she?

"Good point," Jack said, grinning. He saw. He understood the joke, if one could call it that. "I was thinking younger kids. Grammar to middle. We'll just wipe out a whole generation."

"That could be a problem," I said. "They don't tend to gather like older kids do."

There was a moment of silence as Jack considered this and Magdalena fumed.

"You know what I'd like to do?" I asked.

"What?"

"I'd really like to burn the home to the ground."

He and Magdalena both looked at me in dumb shock.

"But, Lory," Jack said after a moment. "That would be killing Animals."

"They'd be able to escape," I said. "It's not killing Animals. It's burning a symbol of Deva repression of Animals. Think of it—we'll be doing those kids a favor—the Devas will have to build all new facilities. No more cafeteria with splintering benches."

"Hmm… True. No more creaky, cracked, water-damaged stairs."

"No more stained tiles and mildewing grout."

"No more groaning pipes and freezing showers."

"It couldn't really have been that bad," Magdalena said.

We both looked at her, and then exchanged a look ourselves.

"No more mattresses that smell like piss," Jack said.

"No more walls with flaking paint that you can hear breathing through."

"No more—"

"Enough! Enough!" Magdalena said, standing up with her now-empty bowl. She set it in the sink and came back.

"How can you even talk about blowing up little kids?" she asked angrily. "Fetuses are one thing, maybe. It's still disgusting and horrible, and wrong, but at least… At least their parents haven't gotten to play with them yet, or touch them, or rock them to sleep."

"Young Devas don't need that, anyway," Jack said. "They don't need mothers."

"But do their mothers need them?" she cried. "You're horrible! Both of you! Just talking about it, even! I can't take much more of this, Jack O'Hara!"

"Shut up," he growled. "Don't call me that."

"I'll shut up when I feel good and ready, O'Hara! And that's not going to be for a while—O'Hara—because—"

"I told you to shut up!" he yelled, standing up so quickly that the chair fell over. He slapped her—hard enough that she stumbled to the side, clutching at her cheek. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Gladiola and Triss and Lucas start to move, but stop. I didn't move at all—just watched. In a way, I'd been waiting for this. I'd been waiting to see her get what she had coming.

Magdalena stood up straight again, holding her hand over her cheek. Her eyes were filled with tears. She looked… I didn't know how she looked. Shocked, maybe—and maybe at one time it would have bothered me, but I kept thinking She called the Seraphim, over and over. She called the Seraphim.

"You made me do that," Jack said shakily. "If I hear you preaching about your… your love for little Devas again, it'll be worse."

She didn't look at him, and started to run away. He caught her by the arm and yanked her back.

"Did you hear me?" he barked. "I'm damn good to you, Maggie. I don't deserve this shit. I don't have to take it. You'll be out in the cold on your pretty little ass if you keep this up. You hear me?"

"I hear you!" she yelled at him through her tears.

"Good," he said. "Don't forget it."

He let go of her arm and she walked away slowly, although we could all hear her taking the stairs two at a time.

He glowered after her for a moment, and then turned back to me. He smiled, but it was a sad, empty smile.

"Let's set the home on fire, Lory," he said. "Let's do it tomorrow night."

"Can I come?" asked Jethro.

"Me too," Holiday quickly added.

"No, I don't think so," Jack said. "Because if they caught us… they'd put you in the home. But me and Lory… If they catch us, we can just say… say we were visiting. For old time's sake."

"In the middle of the night," I added, standing up and taking my coffee mug to the sink.

"Stranger things have happened," he mused. "Glowing swords, for example," he said contemplatively, after a moment.

"Speaking of, what will we do about them?" I asked.

A slow grin spread over his face.

"What's more alluring to a hero than impossible odds and innocents in danger?—not that anyone in the home is very innocent, as I recall." He chuckled at what was perhaps a private memory. "Sachever will come. And I'll take his sword along with us. And kill him with it." He smiled at the thought, and then broke into laughter. I stared at the empty seat at the table, and desperately missed Sidney—missed the comment he would be making now about Jack and his indulging in maniacal laughter. I could practically hear it—

"Jack, watch out. You'll blow a lung. Who'd be laughing then?"

"Snap out of it, Lory," Jack was saying, and I did. He grinned up at me.

"Tomorrow, Lory," he said, "We're going home."

But first we hit The Black Bull.

"I don't know where you get the money for this sort of thing," I grumbled at him, and he just grinned and took a swallow of his drink.

"You've gotta… organize your dough better, Lory. That's all," he said, winking at one of the busty 'waitresses' who happened to be passing by.

"I organize plenty. I think you reorganize a bit, behind our backs."

"I may," he said, still grinning. "But you reap the benefits of that, don't you? Just think, if it weren't for that, you'd be sitting at home right now, thinking about how hungry you are and watching TV."

"And as it is now, I'm only marginally less hungry. Marginally less entertained, too."

"Are you saying that I'm bad company? Boring?"

"…I'm a little bit nervous, to be honest," I said, twisting one of the napkins on the counter into little shreds.

"Drink up, then," Jack laughed.

I scowled.

"I'm getting the sense," I said, "that you don't appreciate my completely legitimate fears."

"What're you afraid of? Deva caretakers? All those short, plump little women who used to teach us cursive? Scariest person there was Mr. Larson. Remember him?"

"The gym teacher?" I asked vaguely. I remembered him. I didn't want to remember his tortuous gym class, but I did.

"Yeah. Him. But he's probably retired anyway. So what're you scared of a bunch of little old ladies for?"

"I'm not scared of them. I just… have some sort of guilt complex, apparently. I'm afraid of getting caught by—say—Mrs. O'Leary, because she was always pretty nice. What would she think?"

"You're doing it for her. For those kids, too, in that nasty place. Don't forget that."

"I know that… But I'm afraid she wouldn't understand. What would she think?"

"It doesn't matter. We won't get caught. And if we do, well… We should reek of cigarettes and booze by then, right? Just act maudlin and pretend we're just visiting. We'll pull it off."

"I know we will," I said, examining the counter. Someone had carved the quadratic formula into the wood, and I ran a finger over it.

"You don't believe me," Jack said.

"I do."

"So what's the problem?"

"I don't know. Just nervous."

"It was your idea," he said critically.

"I know. But maybe it wasn't a good idea," I said, still staring down at the counter, and trying to remember what the quadratic formula was for—why I could remember the name, but not the purpose.

"I think it was," Jack said, and then grinned. "If it wasn't, I wouldn't have agreed to do it. Just remember that we're doing it for them. For our brothers and sisters."

"But that's just it. Are we? I've started to wonder, Jack. Is it just revenge? Are we just taking our revenge out on people who had nothing to do with our problem? Shouldn't we be attacking… I don't know. The Bureau of Social Affairs, maybe? It's their fault."

Jack stared at me for so long that I began to feel uncomfortable.

"Why shouldn't it just be revenge?" he asked.

I stared back at him, aghast. He was serious. I could tell that he was serious. Despite this, I asked, "Are you kidding?"

"Why would I be kidding?"

"It's not about revenge—"

"But why shouldn't it be?"

I stared at him, mouth open in dismay.

"We're more powerful than you give us credit for, Lory," he said, leaning in to me and grinning. "The whole world is afraid of us. They're looking, but they can't find us. They're scared. Before long, they'll be on their knees. We're accomplishing our purpose. Why shouldn't we throw in a little revenge now and then, when we feel like it?"

"Because it's immoral! This isn't personal, Jack. We're… We're doing this for humanity!"

"Yeah, we are. But we're part of humanity, too, aren't we? You can't always do selfless things one-hundred percent of the time, right? Right?"

"Wrong," I said, giving him a disappointed look. I pushed my glass away. It was nearly empty, anyhow. "I'm not doing it," I continued, "if it's about revenge." I stood up and started to walk away.

"Where're you going?" Jack called after me.

"Home."

"You're walking, I'll have you know."

"I know."

"Lory, wait!" I turned. He approached me. The bartender looked at us critically, and I glared at her. She turned away.

Jack looked at me for a second, and then grabbed my coat sleeve. He looked down at it.

"I bought this for you," he said. "After you ruined your last one."

"At your behest," I said lowly.

"You wanted to do it. You were eager to do it."

I looked at him for a moment, and then shrugged the coat off. I handed it to him, and turned again.

"You're not serious," he said.

"I'm perfectly serious. Goodbye, Jack."

"Wait," he grabbed my arm again. "When did you get so righteous?" he growled.

"When did you first notice?" I asked, turning and pushing him away from me. He was stronger, though, and we both knew it.

He stayed where I'd shoved him, watching me. He squared his shoulders, and looked around to see if anyone had noticed us yet.

"You want to start something, Lory?" he asked.

"If you're going to make this about revenge, then no, Jack. I'm not starting something. I'm ending it."

"You son of a—"

"Don't start insulting my mother, Jack," I said, turning back toward the door.

"You know," he said, "If you go through with this, then all I'm saying is, you'd better not be home by the time I get back tonight. You goddamn well better be gone."

"Oh yes?" I asked, turning back to him. "Are you sure that's a smart request, Jack?"

It took a second, but suddenly the implication of that sentence hit him.

"Are you blackmailing me, you… you…"

Was I blackmailing him?—I should have learned by then that I'm not good at blackmailing people.

"I'm just saying," I said, turning to go again. "But it's your choice… Consider me gone."

That was when he tackled me. Genuinely surprised, I hit the floor with him on top of me, pummeling me.

"Hey!" I heard someone in the background yell, along with several assorted hoots. In the meantime, Jack grabbed a handful of my hair and smashed my face into the floor.

"You son of a bitch," he yelled. "You think you can double-cross me?" I felt my nose starting to bleed, and wondered vaguely how much blood I'd lost over the last few days.

As he started to hit me again, something instinctual kicked in. I managed to flip over underneath him, lodged one foot in his stomach, and kicked him away. It got him off of me for just long enough that I was able to stand up before he came at me again.

He took a first swing at me, which I dodged enough that it glanced off of the edge of my left shoulder. I took the moment where this left him slightly off balance to push him again. He tottered backward, fell over a chair, came up again, and was subsequently grabbed from behind by some hulking giant.

"Break it up," the giant said.

Jack struggled violently. I glared at him for a moment, unconsciously put my sleeve up to my nose to staunch the flow of blood, realized how disgusting that was, and stopped. I turned again and started toward the door.

"Get back here, godammit!" Jack yelled at me. "Get back here and fight me!" When I didn't respond, he continued yelling. "What, are you afraid of me? Or are you just afraid? Let go of me, god damn you!" I turned back toward him and watched him struggled against the much larger man for a moment. He saw this and caught my eye, grinning maliciously.

"You are scared. You're just a big pussycat, now, aren't you? This is what Thistle did to you, Lory. I'm glad she's gone. I wish she'd never existed in the first place!"

Something inside of me snapped.

"Thistle?" I asked lowly. "How can you bring Thistle into this?"

"What was that you said?" he asked gloatingly, although how he could manage that tone of voice while being restrained in such a matter was beyond me. "Was it, 'Yes, Jack, I'm scared shitless?'"

I had moved across the room and slugged him in the jaw before the man holding him had a change to let go. Yes, it was a cheap shot. I didn't care. I was so sick of it. I was sick of him insulting her, insinuating things about her—even if they were things that could very well have been true—when he continued to protect Magdalena. And I said so.

"How the hell can you bring Thistle into this, Jack? You're no better than I am! What about Magdalena?"

"What about her?" he yelled, still struggling against the giant.

"Oh, don't, 'What about her' me, you hypocritical bastard! You know damn well all the things she's done. But you still feed her and clothe her and give her someplace to live, don't you? How do you justify that? Are you that deluded, Jack?—that you don't even see what that duplicitous bitch is doing?"

"Don't you dare insult her!" he growled, and finally broke free of the man who was holding him, and then we really were fighting—viciously, knocking over empty chairs, and tables, and this time nobody tried to break it up—until we were too tired to continue. Hostilities exhausted, we leaned panting against the bar.

And then the manager threw us out.

We stood outside, trying to gauge how badly we'd been hurt without showing it, and at the same time tried to deduce how badly we'd hurt each other through furtive, sidelong looks. My bruised side ached once more, but nothing else was too bad—and my nose had stopped bleeding, anyway.

"So are you leaving, or not?" Jack asked after some time.

"Depends. If it's about revenge, I'm leaving."

"It's not. Not really. They could use the new facilities. Now, if Mr. Larson was still there—then it'd be about revenge." He turned to me, and grinned, and threw me my jacket.

I caught it and nodded.

"All right, then." And then I smiled, too. "You don't know the good spots to get in the gate, anyhow. Not like I do."

"I'd have figured it out. Just slowly, that's all. C'mon, Lory. The night's moving on without us. …And anyway, I want to hit another bar before we go. The service here stinks—you know?" He flashed his teeth at me again.

I smiled back.

"I couldn't agree more, Jack," I said, and then got into his car. I looked to the backseat, to the neat row of gas cans lined up between the seats. There was something beautiful about them—about the thought that millions of years ago, giant reptilian beings had roamed the continents and died, and left only bones and the viscous, dark liquid fire in the cans behind me. They'd had more of a right to exist than Devas, but they'd died nonetheless, and so now we were using their sacrifice to meet our own ends—the burning home would be their funeral pyre.

And I laughed. Because above us, the stars were out. And what are the stars, but distant, burning gas?

"Jack," I hissed, trying to be as loud as possible without actually being, well, loud. "Jack! Can you just sort of toss them over to me?"

Jack's head appeared over the fence. He gave me a look.

"You ninny," he hissed back. "'Course not. They're too heavy, and anyway you wouldn't catch it, and it'd make some horrible noise or explode or something when it hit the ground."

"No," I protested. "I'll get it. I promise." We had originally intended to push the cans through a hole in the fence that I remembered being near the garbage cans behind the gym—a hole that had since been patched up.

"You promise?" he asked, eyes narrowed.

I nodded.

"Fine," he said. "We'll try it. But you better catch it, Lory. Got it?"

"Yeah, don't worry. Just do it."

He disappeared back over the fence, and I turned around to look at my old place of residence—my old foe. And nothing much had changed. One of the buildings—the classrooms—had a small new addition. They'd painted a mural onto this new wing, and in the daytime it was probably a lovely picture of children playing and learning and enjoying themselves, after having been wrested away from their real parents. It was too bad that we were about to set such a piece of work on fire.

But aside from that, everything was the same. The four buildings—girl's dorms, boys' dorms, the classrooms/cafeteria, and the gymnasium—were dark. Curtains were pulled in the dorms. nothing stirred. And I wasn't nervous any longer. What could go wrong? Sachever and Airial were nowhere in sight, and anyone else who would stop us was asleep in their dorm, or inside at their night post. And at least this time, our targets weren't moving around. They were mere buildings, and after burning Hoffman's mansion, I knew that I could take down bigger.

"Lory! Look sharp!" Jack said behind me. I turned, and moved closer to the fence as he hefted the first gas can over the top.

I caught it, but the force of it hitting me in the chest knocked me over backwards. I hit the ground, and then fell onto my back, breathless.

"I told you that would happen!" Jack said. "Stand up, and catch this one, too. Come on, Lory. Three to go."

I was better prepared this time, and so the next three failed to knock me over. After the last gas can was safely on the ground, Jack clamored over the fence himself, and jumped to the ground.

"Right," he said, surveying the area. "So. Have we got a plan?"

I looked around again—four buildings, a car port for the bus, and an empty playground.

"Well, do we need one, really?" I wondered. "Throw gas on the buildings. Light the gas on fire. Run like hell. That's about it, right?"

"Sure. Guess so," he said, although he didn't sound thoroughly convinced. "All right, you take the boys' dorms and the classrooms. I'll take the girls' dorms, the gym, and the bus. Make sure you set the classrooms on fire, first—no one is in them, so it gives us more time to get out of here, that way. And keep the gas away from the doors, right? We want them to be able to get out."

"Right… What about the gas cans?"

"What about them? Leave them. They're cheap enough."

"Er… well…" I shuffled my feet nervously. "Aren't our fingerprints all over them?"

Realization dawned in his eyes.

"Son of a… It's a damn good thing you thought of that. Damn good. We'll have to toss them back over the fence before we light this place up."

"Right."

"Right."

We looked at each other for a moment.

"We're forgetting something," Jack said.

"It feels like it, doesn't it?"

He waved it off.

"It'll come to one of us later if it's important. Let's go."

We both grabbed our gas cans and hurried off toward opposite ends of the fenced area. I set one down by the edge of the boys' dormitory, and hauled the other to the classrooms. Getting the gas out of the cans and onto the building—without getting it onto myself—was harder than I'd anticipated, but I reasoned that it didn't really matter where it went. As long as some of it got onto the building, it would start a fire.

All of this felt, in the wan light of the half-moon, like some strange sort of ritual—or like a game. After a time, the smell of gasoline started to make my head swim, making the whole situation even more surreal. It felt like some sort of dream.

Jack was waiting at our former place at the fence when I returned.

"Having fun?" he asked. His gas cans were nowhere in sight.

"Yes," I said, smiling—and I was. Burning down the home had been a lifelong dream.

He took the now empty gas cans from me and hurled them over the fence.

"Now, once these suckers are on fire, get over the fence, get two cans, and get back to the van. Do not deviate from the plan, Lory. Got it?"

"Yes, yes. Come on."

"Okay, then. Go!"

Once again we took off in opposite directions, and I fumbled in my pockets for matches.

And then it all happened so fast. I was there, and the match was lit, and then I was standing before the building, watching fire spreading over the surface of the gasoline, and hearing it start to crackle against the wood underneath, and then I was running to the boys' dorms—the building that I detested the most—and it was on fire, too, and I was standing between them, in awe of how beautiful it was. Something about it was fascinating—the snow on the ground, and the fire in the air, and above, the night sky. I'd never noticed before, but fire does dance. And it dances like flowers do—fingers, petals reaching out, reaching up, straining ever higher, trying to grab the sun and pull it down out of the sky. Only there was no sun now to pull for—it was reaching only for cold, empty space where the sun ought to be, like a child reaching out for an absent mother.

But humans are like that, too—primevally fearing our time turned away from the sun and warmth and light, and adapted to slumber through it, so that we need only witness the dawn. It's beautiful, and tragic, and Devas can't understand it. They don't get so cold. They don't need as much sleep. They have no reason—no internal, instinctive reason—to fear the dark.

And still the fire climbed toward the heavens, still dancing, and I tilted my head up to see. As I did this, I realized how foolish it was—fire didn't dance. It had its own rhythm, its own movement, and there was no dancing for it. Dancing was only the name I gave it in a futile attempt to capture the joy of that movement, the beauty it gave, and the pleasure it seemed to take from it. Dancing was the only way I could comprehend it, and I wondered how many other things were like that—mislabeled, because their true nature was beyond my reach, but I wanted to capture them anyway. I wondered if Gemma was like that. What was her true form?—or did she have one at all? Did I see her as an old woman because she showed herself to me that way, or because it was the only form that my struggling, animal brain could come up with and accept in her presence?

And still the fire moved…

"God damn it!" Jack yelled. "Run, you idiot! Run!"

I snapped out of my reverie slowly, but once I was out of it, I was quick to move, and quick to follow him to the fence. I scrambled over, caught my pant leg, and heard it rip as I struggled to get free. And in a moment I was over the fence and watching the fire again, safe in the shadow of the forest.

"You're a pyro," Jack muttered, sidling up to me and shoving a couple of gas cans at me. "You know that?"

"If I'm a pyro, so are you," I mumbled.

"No," he said. "I commit arson. But then I have the sense to get out. I don't stand there staring at my handiwork."

The first screams of terror began, as the girls started to file out of their dorm.

"But it's so beautiful," I said, and then laughed.

"Shut the hell up!" Jack said, punching my arm. "Don't be so happy! Those Deva caretakers—they'll feel you. Come on. Let's go. Before they do feel us." He picked up two of the cans and headed into the forest, toward where he'd parked the van.

For a second I continued to stare at the fire—and at all the girls standing outside in their nightgowns. Then, as I noticed that the boys' dorm too had emptied out, I picked up my own gas cans and turned, and followed Jack.

"Why do you think Sachever and Airial didn't show up?" I wondered, once the fire and smoke and noise was behind us.

"I was wondering that, too—'specially since I brought his sword along. Maybe it's because we didn't intend to kill anybody. You think?"

"Any Deva," I spat. "For an Animal, he seems to care about them way too much."

"I wish he had come," Jack said. "I swear to God, Lory. I'm sick of him screwing things up. Him and his self-righteous talk about love. He killed Sidney, and I'm going to kill him, so help me God—do you hear that? Shh…"

He stopped me, and we both paused, listening.

"…big deal, Sachever? Let's go. Come on." It was Airial. And by the sound of it, they were waiting for us at Jack's van.

"No way! We've got to get the sword back!" Sachever said. "I can't believe this, I can't! I found Gaudium Gladius through about six feet of solid stone. I pulled it out of that glass case without even touching it! Without even breaking the glass—it just came, Airial, and I thought I was bonded to it. That's what the priestess said. So why is it that I'm thwarted by a car with locked doors?"

"It's a German car," said Airial.

"So?"

"They make them better."

Jack and I crept forward slowly and looked into the small clearing where he'd parked the van.

Airial sat on top of it, swinging her legs over the side and looking bored. Sachever prowled around the car, peering through the windows.

"It's in there!" he said. "I can feel it!"

"Sachever," Airial said, "we have to get to the home! They'll be lighting it on fire, any second now!"

"I have to get my sword back," the boy protested. "What can I do without it?"

I snickered—I couldn't help it. That statement was seemingly so against everything he purported to stand for.

Jack elbowed me as I did this, and Airial's head snapped up.

"Did you hear that?" she asked. Jack gave me a nasty look.

"Hear what?" Sachever asked, on guard now.

"Might as well kill him now," Jack muttered, and stepped out of the underbrush. I followed.

Immediately Airial was off of the car and hiding behind Sachever. He extended his arms protectively, and she put a hand on one of the out flung arms reassuringly, and inside of me a strange, jealous fire flared.

"I'll have you know," said Jack, laughing, "You're too late!"

"Too…late?" Sachever asked. He looked understandably nervous. He had no sword. And could he fight without it?

"The home is on fire already. You're too late to stop us, this time. And maybe… maybe without your magical sword you'll never be able to stop us again. We have the missing piece, Sachever, did you know that? Soon all of your power will be mine."

"Airial, run," Sachever commanded her. She tore off away from him, into the woods.

"Lory! Don't let her get away!" Jack barked, and I followed—followed her flashing hair in front of me.

She ran a long way, but in a completely straight path. There was nothing at all in this of the way I'd felt while chasing Ambrose. That had been anger driven, and I had not known fully what I intended to do when I caught up to him. But now… this… This was like waiting out the night before Yule, knowing that something wonderful waited on the other end. It was knowing that there are presents waiting to be unwrapped.

Then, suddenly, she stopped running. She leaned against a tree, and slumped over, panting.

"I need to rest," she said.

"Oh?" I asked, moving up to her and cornering her against the tree. I smiled down at her. "And you think that's a good idea, do you?" I laughed.

She looked up at me, and smiled without a trace of fear, and this scared me more than any other thing she could have done.

"It's not a bad idea," she said.

"Why not?" I asked coldly.

"You won't hurt me."

"How do you know?" I asked, starting to get angry again—angry at my fear of her, angry at her confidence, angry at myself for the way I wanted her.

"I can see it in your eyes," she said. She smiled.

"Whatever you think you see," I growled, pressing myself closer against her, so that her back was against the tree, "You're wrong. I'll kill you if I have to. I'll kill you if Jack says to."

"I'm not worried about you killing me. I never was." She tilted her head up at me, still smiling—as if she was going to kiss me, or let herself be kissed by me. "Sachever won't let that happen."

"And if he dies? If Jack kills him?"

"Then why would I want to live anyway?" she asked, tilting her head further so that the light of the moon caught the edge of her face, her lily-white throat.

"You're so beautiful," I said. After I said it, I didn't know why. I wanted to bury my face in her hair, and it was quickly becoming like that night not so long ago. I couldn't think properly with her around.

"But you don't believe in love," she replied lightly.

"And what if I don't?" I was completely and utterly baffled by her—we were touching, physically touching, and she wasn't afraid.

"I don't believe you, when you say that," she said laughingly. "Because you can't find beauty in things when you don't believe in love. I'm not afraid of you. The old woman said not to be—not really."

"The old woman? Gemma?"

"You know her? …She's awfully nice. And wise, of course."

"Nice?"

"She's nice to me. I think she's been watching over me for awhile—like my fairy godmother."

"Looking at you," I said, "sometimes I forget that you're half Deva, and that I'm supposed to hate you."

"You see? You're not all evil." She smiled up at me, and then looked away, and frowned. "Just like Sachever isn't all good."

"No human is all good," I said. "It's a defining characteristic. …But it's funny to hear you say that—I thought you saw him as almost godlike."

"I did. But he's not. He's… so fixated on that sword, now. He almost forgot tonight to save those people. But I was wrong, too—you were here before I thought you would be. Maybe his fixation on it is messing up my ability to find you. …But I can't believe how he acted—how he would have let people die."

"No one was meant to die."

"See? Like I said. You're not all evil."

"I'm not evil at all. …Even Devas have to divide the world into twos, do they? Good, evil. White, black. …Male, female," I added, taking a hold of her wrist, for the assurance that she wouldn't leave. "You know, you have to wonder… Do people see things in two pieces because we ourselves are divided into twos?—two eyes, two arms, two lungs, two halves of brain. Or are we divided into twos because that is the way of things?"

"I didn't create the world, Alister Siderius. Or shall I call you Richard Black?"

"Call me whatever you want," I breathed. "But you're a woman. Women are supposed to know about mysteries like that. Like Gemma."

"I'm only human."

"You're only half human."

She giggled.

"There you go, dividing the world into twos, yourself."

But she'd made the mistake of looking into my eyes, and once again I was caught in them, unable to look away, and unable to think of anything else. My breath caught in my throat, and it was an effort to get it started again. My heart fluttered—or maybe that was my stomach. I wasn't sure of anything, any longer, in her eyes.

"It wouldn't be right," was what she said, looking back at me.

"Please," I said, almost desperately, taking a hold of her other wrist. "Let me love you. I… I could believe in love again, if it was with you."

At last she looked away, smiling sadly, and it nearly broke my heart.

"You don't want to love me," she said. "You want to own me."

"I want to possess you like you possess me."

"But that wouldn't be possible," she said, looking up at me again. "Because you could only ever possess my body. My heart belongs to someone else."

"To Sachever."

"To Sachever, yes. You're going to let me go, now. But first, the other day, you took something from me, and I'm going to take it back."

She stood on tiptoes, and kissed me quickly on the cheek, and then smiled up at me. I stared back at her, utterly confused.

"You'll find someone else," she said. "Someone who will make you believe in love. Then, maybe, you'll understand and stop all of this nonsense. Now, let me go. Sachever is coming." She tugged at where my hands encircled her wrists.

"No," I said.

"Mr. Siderius, please," she said, pulling at her wrists again. "Sachever will hurt you, if you don't let me go. You don't want that. Really, I don't want that, either. People getting hurt is never good. Let me go!"

"No!" I said again, laughing at the way she pulled. "You just expect me to do as you say? Why should I? Because you've been nice to me for three minutes? It doesn't work that way. I'm not letting you get away from me twice."

"No," she said, starting to struggle. "Let me go! Sachever can't see—"

"Can't see us standing here together? Can't see that you stayed, for a time, of your own free will? Can't see that you allowed yourself to be caught?"

"Let me go! I love him! I love him! He can't know!"

"If you love him, why can't you be honest with him, Airial? What kind of love is that?" What kind of love is it when you kill someone's brother and can't be honest with them about it? Is that love?

"Let go!" she screamed. "Sachever!"

As if on cue, he broke through the underbrush on the other side of the clearing. His cheek was bleeding, but he appeared otherwise unharmed. And in his hand he carried Gaudium Gladius. My heart sank. Jack—what had happened to Jack?

"Airial!" Sachever cried.

I dropped one of her wrists and turned to face him.

"Let… her… go!" he yelled, charging at me. He raised the sword, and before I could move he nailed me squarely between the eyes with the hilt.

I tottered backwards, instinctively letting Airial go and bringing my hands up to my face, more surprised that he hadn't just killed me right then than anything. The world had exploded into white in front of my eyes.

"Come on, Airial! Run!" I heard Sachever saying, and then the sound of feet through the forest.

"Damn you!" I yelled after them—or in the direction that I assumed was after them. Struggling to get the world back into focus, I clawed my way back to a standing position using the tree nearest me. "Get back here!"

Slowly I was able to see again, and I continued to lean against the tree for support. My nose was bleeding again. I was dizzy—probably from blood loss, I told myself, and not brain damage. I started back through the forest to the van. I had to find out if Jack was okay.

He was sitting in the car, listening to the radio, by the time I got back.

"I don't want to talk about it," he said as I climbed into the passenger's side.

"Neither do I."

"Well good. It's settled then. …You noticed that I lost the sword, and I noticed that your nose is bleeding again. We'll leave it at that."

"Did you lose the disk, too?"

"Nope. Still got it. Fat lot of good it is to us, now, though." He stared fixedly at the steering wheel. "I wanted him dead, Lory. Dead."

"Later. We'll do it, Jack. We will."

"Or course we will. No, I will. I'm going to, damn it."

"Yes, you will."

Neither of us spoke for a moment. Blues blared from the radio. It seemed to fit. I opened the car door again, and grabbed a handful of snow to put on my nose.

"You should probably clean the blood up," Jack pointed out. I shrugged, and moved the snow to my upper lip, instead. It didn't feel terribly good.

"Lory," Jack said after a quiet moment. "What does 'duplicitous' mean?"

"Two-faced."

"You didn't mean that, did you? About… about Maggie?"

Of course I did, I wanted to say. I meant what I said, and would have liked to say so much more.

"No, Jack," is what I said, instead. "It was just… angry talk."

"I know how that is," he said.

"Everybody does. Probably even Sachever."

There was another pause.

"I'm going to kill him," Jack said.

"I know."

"Hey, are you hungry?"

"Not any more than usual."

"…I don't feel like going home, yet. Let's head back into town."

"Whatever you want, Jack," I said. But then again, wasn't that always what I said?

It was early morning when we arrived at home again, but Magdalena was still—inexplicably—awake, and watching television.

"Well?" she asked—she'd gotten up as soon as she'd heard the door open. "Are you proud of yourselves? Are you happy with what you've done?"

"Well… Yeah!" Jack said, going up the hall to meet her and grinning. "Think of it, Maggie—think of what we've done for those kids. They'll get all new facilities. All new text books, and beds, and clothes, and everything! We did 'em a great favor."

"You put them out of a home at Yule! It's already on the news, Jack. The whole world hates you—as if they didn't before. They're saying, 'Now the Hungry Ghosts are even attacking their own.' How can you live with that, Jack? Lory? How can you?"

Jack turned, and gave me a wondering look. I shrugged. I really just wanted her to shut up so that I could go to bed.

"Maggie, come on… Does it really matter what the rest of the world thinks?" he asked. "We know that what we're doing is right. Does anything else matter?"

"Killing babies isn't right!"

"C'mon, Maggie," he said. "It's late. We're tired. Who cares? …I missed you." He was sweet-talking her now. "Didn't you miss me, too?"

Her expression remained stony.

"C'mon, Maggie," he said. "Just gimme a kiss." He grabbed for her hips, but she slapped his hands away.

"Look, Jack," she said, lowly—it reminded me of the sound that a cornered cat makes. "This can't go on. I can't… I just can't take it any longer! Please, listen to what I'm saying to you. Killing people just isn't going to solve anything; that's just common sense. You're going down the wrong path, and it… it scares the hell outta me, Jack!"

I leaned back, against the door, trying to stay in the shadows. I wasn't sure, really, that I was meant to be part of the conversation.

"I'm not sure who you are anymore, Jack," she continued. "I'm not sure that you're the same man I used to know—and you're breaking my heart. Slowly, too, and I think that it's cruel. You have to see—have to know—that you're not getting anywhere on this path that you're taking. Making people afraid of you isn't getting you any closer to your objective! Why, I'm not sure anymore what your objective even is! So, Jack, what I'm begging you to do is this: Give it up. Give it up, and… and come back to me."

"Maggie—"

"That's all I'm asking you, Jack!" she said, voice rising to a nearly hysterical pitch. "That's all!"

Jack looked at her for a moment, and then slowly shook his head.

"No, Maggie," he said sadly. "I can't do that."

She backed away from him, toward the stairs.

"I was… I was afraid that was what you'd say to me," she said lowly, and then, ascending the stairs, she started to cry.

"Maggie!" Jack said, starting after her. Then he stopped, and turned back to me.

"What do… What do I do?" he asked desperately.

"Hell if I know," I said, shrugging.

He turned back toward the staircase and sighed, and slowly followed where she'd gone.

I watched him go, and then went to turn the TV off.

It was on a news channel—a news channel broadcasting pictures of buildings on fire, completely on fire, and firemen who could barely do a thing, and kids of all ages huddled outside, with the flames reflected in their eyes. Some of them were crying, and some were just watching, dead eyed. But some of them… Some of them looked nearly happy.

I smiled, and turned the set off.

I woke up the next morning due to an intense need to void my bladder. I stumbled out of bed before I was really quite awake, banged into the door, and more or less felt my way to the bathroom.

In an attempt to wake up, I splashed cold water on my face—although it felt like someone had taken a jack-hammer to the bridge of my nose. The water accomplished its purpose, and for the first time I noticed that something about the bathroom wasn't right. It took me a minute, but I figured out what it was—things were missing.

Specifically, Magdalena's things.

I exploded out of the bathroom and charged down the stairs in—I didn’t know. Panic? Fury? Something. I was so much in a hurry that I all but tripped over the two suitcases on the bottom stair.

"Magdalena," I growled, moving into the kitchen. She wasn't there. But I heard the front door open. I went silently to the kitchen door, and there she was, leaning over to pick up the suitcases.

"What are you doing?" I asked sharply.

She jerked up, and spun around to face me.

"Lory!" she said. "What are you doing awake?—after last night, I thought you'd sleep a couple more hours, any way."

"What are you doing?" I repeated.

"Well—"

"No, never mind. You're going to give me some idiotic excuse, when it's quite obvious what you're doing."

"Well, then," she said, picking up her suitcases. "I won't waste time. G'bye, Lory." She moved forward and made as if to walk by me, but I stepped in front of her. I noticed that she looked nice today—nicer than she'd bothered to look for some time.

"This is stupid, Magdalena. It's a stupid thing to do," I said. "You've got a good thing, here—free food. Free shelter."

"It's not free," she said, looking up at me sadly. "And it's all closing in on me. Every day I stay here, a little bit more gets cut out of my soul. …I think it's happening to all of you, too. You just don't feel it." She tried to move past me again, and again I blocked her.

"Where are you going to live?" I asked gruffly.

"I'm going to stay with an old friend of mine for a little bit. Not that it's your business or anything. Will you let me leave?"

"No," I said, getting angry—how dare she? She'd threatened before, sure, but how could she really walk out on Jack? How could she leave without even saying goodbye?

"Lory—"

"I said no, you ungrateful bitch!" I growled. "For three years, now, he's fed you, clothed you, loved you, and you have the nerve to walk out like this? Who bought you those clothes you've got on? Those shoes?"

"…Jack did," she said, looking down.

"And for three years, that was good enough for you. But no—now you've got principles. Just tell me how you've got the gall to walk out of this house with that much of his money in your pocket."

"First tell me how you've got the gall to burn down a home for orphaned children."

"They're not orphans. They're stolen."

"Look. I know you're trying to manipulate me into staying, Alister. It won't work. I'm leaving. You're not going to stop me."

"Oh, aren't I?" I asked. I turned away from her, and went to the door. I locked it. I leaned back against it.

"You're going to make me go out the back door?" she asked.

"I'm not going to let you go at all, Magdalena," I said.

"You don't have any say in it," she replied bitterly. "It's positively disgusting of you to think that you have any sort of control over my life at all. What gives you that right?"

"No one gives it to me," I sneered. "I take it, when it becomes necessary. I will kill you, if I have to."

She backed up a bit, until she was standing against the stairs.

"I will kill you," I continued, "If I have to—but I won't allow you to leave this house to go straight to the Seraphim."

She looked aghast.

"Is that what you think I'm going to do?"

"Of course that's what you're going to do. Living here didn't stop you from calling them before—what would stop you now? But don't think that I'm going to let that happen. I'll chase you into the woods, if necessary. I'll kill you like I killed Ambrose. You're not going to give us away."

"…You killed Ambrose?" she asked, horrified.

I said nothing.

"I… I never knew." She looked impossibly sad, suddenly. "I never knew you, after all, Lory. Maybe we're not so alike, in the end."

"No," I said coldly. "We're not."

"I'm not going to go to the Seraphim, though. Even if you hate me—and I'm starting to wonder—please believe that."

"Why should I?"

"I'm sorry about Thistle, Lory. I am. I really am. You don't know how many nights I've lay awake over that. I don't think I'll ever forgive myself for it—I killed her, didn't I? But I've realized… I don't want all of you to end up like that. Dead. I just can't be a part of it, any longer, though. I can't. I'd rather let you kill me than stay here."

"I ought to," I said. "Do you realize… Have you thought about what this will do to Jack? Have you?"

"I'm not sure," she said. "He… I'm not sure that he loves me, any longer. If he doesn't, then what's the point of me staying? And if he does… then maybe this will wake him up. I'm not coming back, Lory. Ever."

"Ever?" I repeated. …And thought about how nice that might be.

"No, I'm not." She sniffled back tears. "I still love him, Lory. I really do. Maybe I always will. That's why I've got to go—don't you understand? I can't bear to watch him becoming someone else like this any more. I'd rather just leave and imagine that he's died than watch him turn into a monster before my eyes. But I don't want him to get hurt. I won't turn you in. I won't. Please let me go."

I stared at her for a second. She looked back at me, unafraid—although her eyes shone with tears. Tears of mourning?—They were for Jack, anyway. That I knew.

I reached back and unlocked the door.

"Thank you, Alister," she said, opening the door and moving out past me.

"Just don't come back," I snarled, stepping out onto the porch after her. "And if you call the Seraphim… I'll break out of wherever they put us, track you down, and rip your lungs out. Personally."

She smiled.

"Thank you, Lory. Thank you."

She threw her suitcases into Sidney's old truck, climbed in, and drove out of my life forever.

Really… I had to smile.