by Ash Krafton
"We do need to talk about it because it is your demon. I promise I won't try to fix you. Just tell me what drives you."
"Fine. You want to know, fine." I balled my hands, steeling myself for the story. "When I was in junior high, a boy in my class hanged himself in his closet. His little sister found him."
Marek dipped his head. "Suicide. That's harsh. How old was he? Fourteen?"
"Fifteen."
His expression clouded. "Shiloh's age."
"Right. And I was the last person he spoke with before he did it. He was nice enough to thank me in his suicide note."
"Oh, gods." He reached up and rubbed his face.
"Damn straight—one God isn't enough to swear by. He wrote, 'Tell Sophie she's right. Life is hopeless.' My demon is the spirit of a fifteen-year-old boy who committed suicide because of me."
"Not necessarily. What did you talk about?"
"Everything. I had no idea he'd do it, you know. He didn't sound depressed. Kris called me after supper and said he was grounded again. Got caught stealing cigarettes from the deli near his house. The owner made a big deal, called the cops and everything. Cop read him the riot act and told him it was a black mark that would stay on his permanent record. Kris was afraid he wouldn't get into college because of it. The cop later said he was just trying to scare him straight."
"What did you say? Can you remember?"
"I can't forget. Every word is seared into my brain. I was feeling pretty low when he called. My parents were together but dad worked all the time. Mom belonged to all sorts of groups. They weren't home a lot. After my brothers died, I felt abandoned.
"I became a one-man salvation army. I rallied my friends when they were down. The class clown. Miss Sunshine. Kris called me, hoping I'd cheer him up. But I didn't. I was too busy pitying myself."
I stooped and gathered a small handful of rocks, throwing the biggest one out at the river. There was no splash. "I was in a pissy mood. I yelled at him for being stupid. We all smoked behind our parents' backs. If he got caught, we'd all get caught. 'Sorry,' he said. 'It was just a prank.' I said I hoped they at least let him keep the smokes because he'd pay for them for the rest of his life."
Marek turned to face me, still leaning against the wall, resting on his elbow. "You didn't know you were his last hope. You wouldn't have said it, had you known."
I let the rest of the stones slip through my fingers, listening to the spatter when they hit the water below, and rubbed my empty hands. "I damned him, Marek. I told him God wouldn't forgive him. No redemption with the cops who said he'd never get into college, no redemption with his parents who grounded him for the rest of his life. No redemption with God, because Sophie says the Almighty Merciful One doesn't care about a petty thief. My fault."
"You didn't damn him."
"Then why does he keep coming back? Why am I still haunted, if I'm not being punished? Kris keeps coming back. He's reincarnated over and over and over. The last time, he was Patrick."
Marek's subtle shake of chin and shoulders revealed incomprehension. I thought everybody knew about Patrick.
"He used to write to the column every week. Depressed guy, personal problems. We corresponded. It was evident he needed therapy, a counselor, something more than a bleeding heart pen-pal. I encouraged. I cajoled. I mailed him lists of groups and clinics. In the end, what did I get?" I tightened my hands into impotent fists. "Another suicide note. Another note and a reminder of my failure with Kris. It never stops. I try, and I fight, and I keep losing."
"I see why you feel the way you do. Your strong words found an easy target on a wounded soul."
"If I knew he'd—if I knew—"
His voice held more warmth and understanding than I'd ever received from anyone before, the simple sound of his love. "You wouldn't have said it. I know. The unseen future has a way of making us hate ourselves for an innocent past. It was an unfortunate thing. But it drives you to be better."
I nodded, lifting one shoulder in half-hearted agreement.
"It drives you to save and redeem others."
"I don't deserve—"
"It is noble." His firm voice was malleable with acceptance. "It's a quality of Isis. You prove my point for me."
"Isis wouldn't convince someone they're past hope."
"Isis was human. She wasn't perfect. She injured Horus when she meant to assist him in battle. Did she do so intentionally?"
"What mother would intentionally hurt her child?"
"Exactly. An error of judgment, a miscalculation of future movement. She did not aim for Horus but she struck him all the same. Sometimes terrible things happen. We accept our punishment and continue forward."
"So, basically, a kid commits suicide and tells the world it's because of me, and your response is 'deal with it'?"
"Sophie, it was tragic. It changed your life. It restructured your soul. Because of that, many people benefited. How many people gained confidence because of something you've said or done? Think of the greater good."
"Someday. Maybe. Today, Kris is still just a demon."
"Don't say demon. Angel is more appropriate."
"Angel or demon, they're both dead. A nice word doesn't change it."
"You're right. But remember, you have to live with yourself. If pretending lets you find a semblance of peace, then you must pretend."
"What are you pretending?"
"Hmm?" He made a harsh sound and shook his head to clear his thoughts. His power turbined tighter around him.
"I know you're haunted, too, Marek. What demon drives you?"
"I'm not sure you'd understand."
"Try me."
"Then I'm not sure you'll forgive me."
"Well. Now you have to tell me or I'll always think the worst."
Marek let out a long, slow breath, like a patient preparing for the pain of resetting a broken bone. "I've been around a long time. Long before Wall Street or Washington, DC. I was originally schooled in the art of war. I trained with militants of other cultures. I fought. I protected. I destroyed. And war, Sophie, is a messy thing. Blood doesn't wash from one's hands."
I knew Marek had a violent past. I knew his conscience was a burden he continued to carry. I knew I had to be supportive now, because this weight made up much of the mass of his spirit. "Who did you fight?"
"Vampire."
"Oh." The muscles in my shoulders twitched. I didn't realize they'd tensed until my purse slid down my arm, and I hitched it back up. "Well, that's okay. It's not killing if they're dead already."
"True. But their daylight agents are not."
"Oh."
"War makes decisions for us, Sophie. Missions dictate our actions. A soldier has a light conscience as long as he keeps things in perspective."
"But that's not what tortures you, is it?" I slid my hand along his forearm to the crook of his elbow, into the warmth between his arm and side. "There's something deeper."
He placed his hand over mine, curling his fingers around mine and drawing me closer. "Yes. I coordinated slayer patrols. Our strength and training is still no match against vampire, so we hunted the newly Fallen. Their power is weak, when the young are overwhelmed by sensory overload. We seize the opportunity to destroy them while they're vulnerable."
"Vampire is vampire, Marek. Why is that bad?"
He released my hand and turned back toward the river, avoiding my eyes. "Because I was on patrol when we learned Boxer had Fallen."
Boxer. Rodrian's son. My chest stiffened, mid-breath, mid-beat, mid-thought.
"I exterminated him." Marek's voice shuffled like leaden shoes, the sound of his soul dragged helplessly behind. "Boxer died on my sword."
"But... he was already dead."
"We knew our target was on the brink of evolution. We knew he belonged to a local family. That's all. The tips led us to Germany. He was holed up with a group in Mannheim, a Were stronghold. Traitors, the lot. When he evolved, we pounced. I didn't know it was Boxer until I faced him at
sunfall."
Marek bowed his head, bending to rest it on his hands like a sinner in the back row at church, far away from the glory of the altar, unsure if he was worthy to even raise his eyes. "He died with the sun. When he re-opened his eyes, he was vampire. I staked him to the floor. But he recognized me. His last word was my name."
I reached out with my compassion as I'd done for Rodrian, encountering his stubborn barrier. I nudged at him, asking him to open up to me. "Does Rode know?"
"No."
I inched closer so that I could lean into him. Feeling him against me, warm and solid and sure, gave me back some of the confidence I'd lost talking about my past. "Could Boxer have been saved?"
"No. At sunfall, the DV dies. No resurrection."
I tried not to dwell on the hopelessness of such an ending. "You did what you could."
"I tell myself that. I pretend Boxer died at sunfall. I killed a vampire. Boxer's soul is somewhere safe. But every vampire I killed since wore his face and spoke my name. He is the demon who chases me."
"I don't suppose the term greater good is consolation?"
His power softened somewhat under my persistence, losing a layer of despair. "You give me consolation. Your scent and your smile are enough."
"I have more to offer than that. Don't sell me short because I smell good." I smiled my come-on-you-know-I'm-cute smile. It worked a peculiar magic on him, as if big and tough and hard could be undone by a tiny flash of something sweet.
"I still don't get it," he said. "My world is so different. It's about gain, power, survival. Yours isn't. And yet..." He stood and threw out his arms toward the magnificent view. "We share the same world. How?"
"Opposite ends of the food chain, I guess. You take, I give. Same could be said for our species in general."
In a swift movement he pulled me against his chest and engulfed me in his embrace. The heat of his bright eyes, the touch of so much of his body against mine, the suddenness of it all stole my breath.
For all his intensity, his voice was as playful as it was deep. The bass notes rumbled in his chest, making my skin vibrate. "That's right," he growled. "I feel you haven't given me nearly enough of what I want. And I..." He leaned down to press his lips against my throat, inhaling deeply. "I want so much."
I caressed the sides of his face, feeling the roughness of his sideburns contrast sharply with his perfectly clean shave. I coaxed him away from my vulnerable throat and brought his face even with mine. "Who am I, Marek, to fool with nature? It's my place to give, so take a little of me, now."
"Just a little?"
I couldn't respond. Not because I surrendered to his kiss but because I hadn't figured out exactly how much I was willing to give.
I'd just have to trust he didn't take more than I could handle.
"Turn off your computer and lie with me." Marek lay on the couch, one arm tucked behind his head as he watched TV. He'd been flipping between CNN and The History Channel. "You need a break."
"I wish I could." I rested my weary head in my cupped hand and rolled the mouse in aimless circles. Even though it was after eight o'clock, I sat at my computer, wearing no more than a camisole and sleep-shorts. Since meeting Marek I'd fallen behind on the extras I usually contributed at work. It was odd. Until I met him I never had anything to do except write.
Usually it made me smile. There was so much more to life now that someone special shared it with me. However the closer deadlines got, the less I smiled and the more I worried.
I had it easy at work and I knew it. I didn't want to jeopardize it by slacking off. Donna's comments had been a lot more pointed than usual and I didn't want the sentiments to spread. I might have the world with Marek but loving him didn't pay the rent.
"I promised to get some research done for an article on the new tax legislation. Vote goes to the House this July and The Mag wants to spotlight each side of the issue. I'm organizing material on Senator Levene since he's been a major force behind one of the State Reps."
"How is it going?"
"Too many unanswered questions," I admitted. "The 'pro' side is carpet-bombing with all sorts of happy horseshit about how many benefits the taxes will bring. But it's the Senator's voice we need—he just doesn't give in to Q and A too often." I stood up and stretched, then walked over to the couch.
Marek reached up and tugged me down onto him. As I wiggled into a comfortable position, he stroked my hair and rumbled contentedly. "Better," he whispered.
"One good interview with Levene would have the state running behind him like rats behind the piper. Instead, I'm trying to piece together quotes from a bunch of different sources. It's making me nuts. I wish I could get into his head."
"Good idea," said Marek. "Do that."
I lifted my head and shot him a look that said oh, yeah, right. "Good idea, maybe, but an impossible one."
He nudged me, urging me to get up. I did so very reluctantly; Marek made a comfortable cushion. As I trudged back to the computer, he sat up and dug his hand into his front pocket.
"Not impossible." He pulled his cell phone free. "Get dressed."
"Why?"
"We'll get your answers. Then, your work will be done and you can go back to lavishing your attention on me."
"I don't understand."
"I'm calling Frank. We'll stop by for a drink and you'll ask him what you want to know."
"What? No. I can't do it." I sprang from the chair to grab his hand, which already had his cell phone flipped open. "I don't interview. Let me call Tammy. She can do it justice, not me."
"No. Not Tammy. You. Frank will do this for me as a favor." He closed his phone and gave me a serious look. "But, I want you to handle it carefully. The Mag can't discover you or I have such connections to Frank. Our public relationship has been meticulously developed. Can you publish this information without revealing our involvement?"
"Sure," I said. "We'll use a pseudonym. The Mag does it all the time."
"You can arrange this?"
I shrugged. "My editor can."
He nodded with satisfaction. "You're okay doing this?"
His insistence puzzled me. "Why wouldn't I be? I get paid either way. I write a lot of extras at work but the only thing I put my name on is my column. It's part of the reason they love me. I help them look good."
"So modest," he said with a laugh.
"So true," I agreed. "And so sad. I bet I'd get paid a lot more if I were an attention-grabber. But then they'd expect more and I'd have to work more. So I cut my losses and remain satisfied being broke but happy."
"As long as you have plenty of time to spend doting on me, I, too, am satisfied. Now, get dressed. I'd like to get this done quickly."
"Why?"
His smirk was full of smoldering promise. "All the sooner to get you undressed again."
We were on our way to Frank's within the half-hour. When Marek wanted something done, it got done straight away. He'd called Frank and said he'd like to drop in, if it was convenient. Of course it was okay. Flipping his phone shut he gave me one of those what else did you expect? kind of looks.
"So Frank is involved in your political business?"
"Yes. I'm a lobbyist of sorts, the same as any other in Washington. My issues simply tend to go beyond gun control and earmarking funds."
I nodded and drummed my fingers on the armrest of the passenger side door. "It makes perfect sense."
"It does?" He sounded guarded, as if he were afraid their relationship might be more apparent than he thought.
"Sure. I just didn't think of it until now. Senator Levene sounds like you. He speaks as if he grew up listening to you preach."
"I guess he did, in a way. I never had any children of my own. It would have been unfair to sire a son when I constantly put myself in harm's way."
"Rodrian has a family."
"Rodrian was content to put down roots, to find a mate and sire children. We were the only sons. While I pursued and protected, Rodrian took care o
f our family and our interests. He did well, after all. It would have been good fortune if his sons had lived to sire sons of their own, but there's still hope. There's Shiloh and, should the hells decide to freeze over, Brianda. Our line will continue. Somehow."
He drove a while, lost in thought. I patted his thigh, a comforting connection, and watched the raindrops zigzag along my window, battered by the wind.
Marek stretched his arm across the top of my seat. "I never sired children but I've encountered many special people. Over the years I've taken some of them in. I've arranged for better homes, for education and employment, for protection for them and their families. Not all of them knew my true nature but some did. Some knew the truths of the DV. Frank is one."
His voice held affection and I felt a sense of pride and joy emanating from him. It was the feeling I got from Rodrian when he talked about his daughters.
"Frank is a rare man. You say he sounds like he grew up listening to me 'preach.'" Marek cast a sidelong glance at me as if not quite appreciating the phrase. "He's a foster-child, raised by a DV pair who had no children of their own. They allowed themselves to age as humans would for the sake of illusion. I was the uncle who spoiled his nephew and encouraged him to go to law school. As Frank grew, I faded into the background, re-emerging as his colleague and acquaintance. I sat at his wedding feast, witnessed the religious dedications of his children. He knows the DV."
He drummed his fingers against my headrest and sighed. "I never had a son of my own. If ever I did, he would be Frank."
"I'd always wondered how someone involved in politics could manage to maintain the attitude of a knight. The whole good versus evil thing. There's no dirt on him, anywhere. Not even a single muddy statement. People say he's an angel of God."
He didn't exactly snort but it sounded close. "Frank is no angel. He's as devilishly mischievous as any boy. I mean, was. He's matured somewhat but you still wouldn't want to go fishing with him. It's his excuse to get the badness out."