Alex's Journal

Jac: My instincts finally let me return to New York City. What a welcome I had.

The taxi driver refused to go anywhere near downtown, ditto the bus drivers, so I walked from 23rd and Third Avenue to the Village. The border guards at 14th gave me looks but let me through. It didn't escape me that they looked like hell.

So does the Village. I walked past craters, some trees ripped from the ground, and a few burnt-out buildings. The few people I saw on the streets looked stunned, many of them sporting the bruises and abrasions I saw on the guards. At St. Marks I saw that the apartment they'd kept the Shattered in had been burnt out as well.

The Best Revenge had its Closed sign in the window, but I knocked anyway. Switchblade shot me a look of deepest distrust but let me in.

When Sean saw me, he just about flung himself at me, then nearly snapped me in half with his hug. I feared for my violin. He had his own share of injuries, so I sat him down, put an arm around him, and waited for the story.

He brought me up to date on everything that had happened, with each word coming out of him as if it had to slice him up before it left. Gaia and Merlin and the deaths and the true nature of the Shattered. Gaia had been Devoured instead of Shattered, eaten and replaced without anyone being the wiser. Merlin had also been a Devourer all along, but one damaged by the process, though still far better off than most of the mages the Devourers had tried to bond with.

He and Gaia were signs that the Devourers were improving and refining their process, and that scared the hell out of everyone.

No wonder my silver streak has been getting me looks.

I'm sure there's nothing inside me that isn't me. I'm sure of it.

Someone had torched the Shattered ward last night, and while no one was openly glad to have the decision taken out of their hands, they very carefully counted the corpses to make sure the fire didn't miss anyone.

When I asked Sean how Alex was taking all the news about Merlin, he told me that he didn't know. She hadn't seen much of anything to anybody after plunging the key, transformed at that point into a very special knife, into Gaia's heart. Joel, fanboy that he is, called it "the key to space and time." Alex went walking alone today, with her notice-me-not preventing anyone from finding her. Nobody knows what she'll do.

Sean: I killed Merlin. I didn't have a choice. It was him or-- Fuck. I stopped his heart. I gave him a warning Stop, but that didn't change his mind from his course of action, which had been killing Alex on Gaia's say-so. Because Gaia was a Devourer wearing a human skin, and Merlin was a-- And Alex turned out to be the only one who could kill her. Catalyst, holder of the key.

Alex is sitting on her bed staring off into space, her hand clenched around that key. It's just a key again, tarnished and harmless looking except that it still has Gaia's blood all along it.

I know why the instincts sent you away, Lyn. I couldn't have killed him if you'd been here. I would have been thinking about what you thought and how you felt and how it would reflect on me. Instead, alone, I went back to that hard, dark place that helped me defend me and mine against the things that'd threatened us while I was with the Sidhe.

They're yelling downstairs. All of them. Trying to decide what to do with the Shattered now that we know what we know about them. Trying to decide if they can ever trust a mage again, since Gaia hadn't given any outward signs of Devourer possession, especially not the white hair. Lyn, maybe you should keep staying away, because I don't know how well your silver streak would go over right now.

But, fuck, I want you here with me....

Gaia's promises have been making the Sidhe braver, so brave that some of them are visibly riding through Midtown at times. Funny how any attempts the media makes to report on that kind of thing gets squashed.

But that's not what this entry is about.

One of the Sidhe came galloping up on Merlin and me. He was beautiful and wore some kind of armor that looked like it had been made from the rainbow underside of seashells, but his smile was ugly. "Adam Reese, you're mine," he said to Merlin as he pulled a spell together.

Merlin grabbed me by the arm, stopping me from drawing one of my short swords and leaping up onto the elvensteed to kill our challenger. He smirked and said, "Good try." Then he blew the Sidhe up, horse and all, while keeping any flaming Faerie pieces from hitting us and making a mess.

After the shock faded and my ears stopped ringing, I said, "Merlin, he used your name. Your true name."

He tore his eyes away from the flames long enough to look at me and murmur, "Mmm-hmm."

"But it had no power over you."

He reduced the remains to ash and called a breeze to blow it away. "Right." Then he walked away.

I think I'm still in shock. I've seen what a true name can do in the hands of an enemy, but Merlin had shrugged it off like it meant nothing. Yet we knew he was born with that name. It's confirmed through his parents and the blood test they had done days after we came back from Faerie.

So what had just happened?

You know the world is going crazy when you're having unofficial meets with vampires, and it's not to kill them. Peter and I met last night after I received an envelope in my mail from him. Colored wax and a seal and everything. My, but I'm coming up in the world. Sure.

"She's playing us all, isn't she?" was the first thing he said.

No need to ask who "she" was. "Of course she is. How could she possibly pay out the promises she's made to everybody? She can't give the Damned, the vampires, and the Sidhe each dominion over the city and promise us peace and safety. It's impossible."

"I don't think she's a child, not really. Maybe she started out that way, but she isn't anymore."

"She acts a lot like one."

"It's a hunch."

It fit in with what Sean had said about her "personal music." Something wrong about that girl. "Have you spoken to Stefan or Olivier about your hunch?"

When Peter shrugged, it somehow looked very European. "Olivier doesn't trust my opinion, and Stefan may love me but he doesn't exactly listen to me all the time." His mouth twisted a little, yet he still did it elegantly. Such an aristocratic little murderer.

But useful. For now. "We're keeping a careful eye on everything that's going on. I'll let my people know."

He bowed his head to me, then left.

It's getting so I need to keep a scorecard to keep track of the sides.

I have to take my mind off of Gaia, so I'm back to the missing days' narrative. Having Misery read over my shoulder as I type is weird, but at least Merlin left for a bit. At least Merlin was shooting only murderous looks at Misery so far. Let go of my arm, Misery, I won't let him hurt you. No.

I have psychological power over Merlin, at least as a kind of exterior conscience. At least I used to. But I can say that he'd have to kill me first to get Misery.

Surprise, surprise, Misery isn't comforted by that thought.


Sunday, May 27
about 11 a.m.

When I awoke, sharp and alert, the first thought I had was that I'd have to break up with my band today for their own safety. What were a few more broken dreams amidst the current wreckage of my life?

Someone had taken off my boots and unbraided my hair. From the black and red stains on my pillowcase, I could tell that my makeup hadn't been touched. I probably looked like I had two black holes where my eyes were.

I noticed Sean sleeping in a chair nearby, still wearing last night's clothing, blue-black shadows staining the skin under his eyes, twitching a little. As usual, he radiated a slight chill and a sharp, icy smell. His sleep looked uneasy, as it seemed to be when Jac wasn't around. Something about her leant him the strength to keep the Shadows at bay and allow him to rest. Without her, he fought the Shadows alone. But there he sat, alone, guarding my sleep.

I hadn't expected this kind of behavior from him. Being telepathic didn't make people predicting all that much more accurate. We saw only tantalizing glimpses. I tended not to pry, respecting people's privacy, but mainly people are too complicated to be understood even by mind readers. The origins of behavior ran too deep and twisted, so much so that even the thoughts' owner might not understand what motivated an action. Telepaths were as alone and as constrained by their barriers and the barriers of other people as anybody else was.

But we did have greater insight because we saw the patterns better, showing a greater ease in determining the meaning behind what people revealed, what they didn't say, and the silences in between. It helped in the Underground, where most 'touched revealed very little about their pasts.

Only Anim told all, and only because she wanted to find the ways in which she was similar to the rest of the human race. Despite being one of the more normal looking 'touched I'd known, Anim, in her perceptions and attitudes toward reality and existence, was easily the most alien.

Sean had given me random puzzle pieces of his former life, but only after I'd pried. He volunteered nothing.

A prodigy forced into public performance at the age of five. A former junkie and alcoholic who'd stopped when he realized how dangerous he already was. His history of substance abuse made him worry sometimes that he used Jac as another crutch. First contacted by the Shadows at the age of three, poor soul, and wasn't believed by his parents until he had a very public freakout during a performance when he was seven. But they still didn't understand his problems, since they ran him through a gauntlet of expensive therapists for years afterward. Therapy taught him not to trust people after he saw the way his therapists used his initially candid responses against him.

They also left him with the gut-deep conviction that he was insane, thus his later attempts to self-medicate through alcohol and various drugs.

Jac helped get him free of the Sidhe who'd seduced him into servitude. The Sidhe who'd used his every weakness against him. The Sidhe he'd finally given in to the Shadows' calls to save.

I didn't know what motivated him now. I knew he was attracted to him, but he didn't have to go through this much trouble or risk. At times he could be shockingly blas� about the Shadows, to the point of taking frightening chances, and I guessed that four years of incessant watchfulness and fear wore him down. Maybe I should report this morning's behavior, to Jac at the very least.

"Sean," I said softly.

He woke slowly and looked groggy. "Yeah?"

"I'm going to have to iron out my T-shirt," I said, trying for levity.

"Oh, please. Besides, would you rather I'd stripped you down to your bra?"

"Hmph. Good point."

"You're the most restless sleeper I've ever seen."

"You've seen many?"

He smiled sleepily. "Plenty. None of them ever tossed and turned as much as you do."

"Why did you stick around? Isn't it dangerous for you to sleep alone?"

"Well, that's what I told my old lovers. Actually, I stuck around to make sure you had a decent sleep. If necessary, I'd sing you back under."

That sounded disturbing to me, no matter how well-intentioned it might be. "It wouldn't be necessary. What did Jac think of you spending the night?"

"She keeps telling me I should be more autonomous. She just warns me not to take stupid chances." He didn't have to mention the Shadows.

"What happened after I went under?"

"I carried you here with Merlin trailing me the whole way like a faithful puppy. He left once he realized I wouldn't kill or rape you. Of course, he didn't know that I intended to stay the night."

It never failed to amaze me that so many men in my life felt the need to attack Merlin. Sean could be as bad as Trev sometimes. "You know, this son of a bitch thing doesn't match with your usual 'broken and vulnerable' schtick."

I expected him to be offended, but he just laughed. "Oh, good, Lyn tells me I should work on being a son of a bitch every now and then. Says I've been kicked around enough that I'm entitled to some bitchiness," he said with a smile. He could be charming when he wanted to.

He'd been interested in me since I'd helped him stop the quakes. Panicked and flashing back to an incident on the West Coast, Sean had thrown everything he had into fighting them with no regard to keeping his sanity or self intact and no control. I'd lent my strength and sense of self as he battled the power of two coerced 'touched who'd started the quakes but lacked the power or will to stop the quakes from raging dangerously out of control. Having felt the giddy temptation Sean's kind of power brought, I'd been happy to return my mind to my own body.

I found him attractive to the eye and pleasant to be around but too needy. And his link to the Shadows bothered me, since I knew they sometimes looked through his eyes, listened with his ears, touched through his body, and whispered in his brain. I'd never told him that I could feel and Feel the Shadows flickering within him.

Another thing adding to my distrust was that he's difficult to Read. I could sometimes catch a vague taste of his mood but nothing more. Not that I would pry--I'd had my prime opportunity during the quakes but refrained out of respect for his privacy--but it reassured me to at least Feel the presence of the people around me. Not being able to Feel him sometimes made him feel like a mirage or hallucination to me. If not for my other senses picking his presence up, I would have found him very scary.

That null wasn't a bardic thing, because Jac only did it through deliberate effort. It took a certain kind of past to make a person unconsciously hide as well as Sean did. I knew that through experience.

In any case, a relationship with Sean would have been a relationship with Jac Silverlock too. I didn't see that changing, and I didn't want a menage a trois no matter how much I might like Jac as a friend.

Merlin wouldn't fit in comfortably either, not with how insanely jealous he could be of my time. I liked Merlin but couldn't touch him, in more ways than one. It hurt to try to Read through the razor-sharp mental static his Shattering had left him with. Without my guidance, his Shattering tended to make him paranoid and left him a loose cannon, violently defending himself from threats that didn't exist. And he did follow me around like a puppy.

Sean: Today the Ripper and some of his cronies came by to try to take Misery back. They called him out, but Alex, Merlin, and I accompanied him to the stoop to stop it. I could see the Doll, some woman who looked like she was made out of metal, and a really over-muscled guy among the Damned posse. No Typhoid Mary at least. Meanwhile, Ripper wore a face a few sizes too small that looked like it had belonged to a child.

Alex's slit pupils contracted into what looked like thin scratches and her lips pulled back from her sharp teeth, giving me a moment of atavistic terror. It didn't matter how long I lived among people who had snakes for hair or blue skin or wings; sometimes I still had these "That's just not right" moments. It'd probably be different if I didn't look so close to normal myself. She had one of her rubber sheathed short swords in each hand--wrapped like that they could be used as staves--and she and Merlin looked ready and eager to kick ass. Alex had been in Council meetings for days, which always left her twitchy since nothing ever seemed to get decided, and hadn't been allowed to take a shot at anybody, not even vampires. She was young and impatient.

Oh yeah, and I'm so wise being only five years older.

Merlin... well, Merlin hadn't barbecued anything in about a week, Sidhe or otherwise, and hating Misery but not being able to do anything about it seemed to be wearing on his nerves. He seemed to need a fight so badly that he'd fight even to keep Misery with us. His personal music has been changing so quickly these days that I didn't know anymore what was normal for him.

Misery looked like he felt torn in half.

"You did find him. Great. Hand him over," the Ripper said.

"Can't do that," I said.

"And why not? You wanna stay with these people, Mis?"

Misery shook his head, a gesture of confusion, not a no to the question.

"I like the cut, Mis," the Ripper said. He smiled in a way that I knew he meant to be reassuring but pulled the skin tighter across his face in a way that made my stomach want to escape out through my mouth.

Misery smiled and touched his hair. "She didn't give me a choice."

I touched his arm, since Alex told me that touch calmed and grounded him. The Doll held Ripper back from jumping me for that. She smiled, blue eyes gleaming in the midst of her smoky eye makeup, the porcelain of her skin showing a sheen in the morning sunshine, shiny red lips beckoning.

Alex grabbed my arm to break the glamour and said to the Ripper, "She did Misery some damage. Ripped his telepathy away for a day and seemed to think it was funny that he didn't prefer being that way after his years of wishing to get the voices out of his head. Before that, she commanded him around like a puppet."

"I'll kill her," the Ripper growled.

"We convinced her to give his talents back. Ripper, he says he feels clearer here than he has in years. Here, not in the Ruins."

"Is that true?"

Misery fidgeted, then straightened and looked the Ripper in the face, although he had the saddest look in his eyes. "Yeah."

"But you haven't been back home since you got it back, have you?"

"She didn't change them. They're exactly the way they were before. But I'm more here now than I've been since--" Misery trembled.

Since before the quakes.

"Misery." The Ripper sounded choked.

Misery must have given me some kind of telepathic command, because seconds later he was out of my grip, down the stoop, and enfolded by the Ripper's huge arms. It looked like he could be crushed in seconds. "I love you, but I need this. Please."

Alex held us back. Of the three of us, she was the best telepath, so I'd listen to her instincts.

"Misery, I love you."

"I know. But I need this." He glared at the Doll, who must have been trying to allure him to changing his mind. This was the most steel any of us had seen in his spine.

The Ripper stroked his hair, then kissed it. "I can see the difference. I won't take you back by force, but Deus X may be pissed enough to try."

"Gaia had me for weeks, and he didn't give a damn."

"He wants her favor. He doesn't give a damn about what the Uncle Toms here think." The Ripper's hair started to smoke.

Alex slapped Merlin's arm to make him stop. He flashed a resentful look back but obeyed.

"Thank you." Misery kissed the Ripper's chin, having to go on tiptoe to do it. Next to the Ripper, he looked even skinnier and smaller than usual.

"Treat him right, or I'll come back and kill you all," the Ripper said, but Misery hit him.

"Don't. Besides, I think you might have some trouble taking them down."

Completely by coincidence, the three of us smiled the darkest, sweetest smile at the Ripper all at the same time.

He actually grinned back. "Okay. Be happy. Visit me sometime?"

Another hug. "Of course."

And the Damned posse left, without violence or Misery. These really are strange days.

Wish you were here, Lyn. Hell, I wish you would talk to me again.

Sean: Alex has been in council meetings almost nonstop for the last day and a half, so I'm taking this back for a while. The change girl showed up at The Best Revenge Tuesday night, throwing Misery in first. Misery had been cleaned up, groomed... and terrified into near paralysis. When Alex caught him and asked what she'd done, she just smiled and said that he'd blamed his telepathy for so much that she'd taken it away from him. For the last day. Alex managed to convince the girl to give it back.

She demanded to be entertained, so Alex showed her around, trailed by a fascinated Merlin and a clinging Misery the whole time. Gaia, what she calls herself, comes off as a spoiled but intelligent child with far too much power, much more than the Underground has ever seen in a mage. Her personal music is all booming force and crescendo, no subtlety, almost no melody. Nobody sounds like they have no melody to me, so I'm really worried.

After two hours Gaia became bored and said she'd be off. Somehow we managed to convince her to leave Misery with us, since she expected him to come with her the way a kid expected a favorite toy to accompany him everywhere. I'm not telling the Ripper that we found Misery either; we didn't take him from one horrific force to give him back to another. We tried to talk her into staying too but couldn't convince her and hold her here.

Our people around the area told us that she spent yesterday talking to the vampires and the Damned, then walked into the Portal to Faerie that's in that clothing store uptown. Hasn't come back yet, as far as we know.

We're waiting for the Ripper to show up and demand Misery, seeing as how she probably told the Damned what she did with their missing representative. We'll fight to keep him.

Though he may not be safe either. Merlin's been looking murderous over how Misery shadows Alex.

Let me tell you about my first kill. It's been preying on my mind lately, considering how death keeps stalking us.

It happened a few hours after I found Howard-Ubelhoer's mangled body. Still stinking of her blood--well, stinking to me, anyway--I'd gotten on the A train and just rode around, no destination. I should have washed but running seemed too overwhelmingly important.

Besides, part of me didn't want to get rid of this last part of her. My stained hands, which had spots of blood drying and flaking in their creases and under their claws, clenched and unclenched in my skirt.

The police would need dental records to identify her body. They'd never suspect vampires.

I wanted to stop thinking. Forever.

I was 12 years old and had just lost the only person left in my life who'd cared about me as a person. Lost her to bloody murder, the same way I'd lost the last people who'd cared just four months before. The only parents I'd ever known.

I had nobody left, and I was alone in a city I barely knew.

The lights abruptly died, leaving me in the darkest dark that ever existed, and the train lost momentum and stopped. Random power outage; nothing too unusual but still terrifying. Total absence of light. It was like waiting to be born or being dead or ceasing to exist.

How long would it take for everything to start up again?

I took off my sunglasses, which had been sliding down my swollen face from all the tears collecting beneath the rims anyway, and waited. As scared as I felt, at least I could still smell the metal and exhaust of the train and tunnel. Everything hadn't actually disappeared. Most people riding the trains didn't have my advantage.

Then I heard the between-cars door slide open. "Where are you, little girl?" a man's voice asked.

I knew by scent that he wasn't one of the train operators. He was the man in the other car that I'd left, the one who smelled so foul. He liked other people's pain so much that his lust for it and the stench of it on him had cut through even my grief and distraction. I'd gone to the next car, trying hard to make it look like I didn't know what he was.

And now here he was, looking for me.

"You're out alone, and it's after curfew. Let me take you home." His thoughts bled out like a torrent of sewage. - She's all alone, the little whore. Asking for it. - I shut out the images in his head of what he'd do to me and what he'd done to others. He brought them home, raped and mutilated them over the course of days until their bodies broke, then dumped the corpses out on the tracks in Long Island City.

He thought I was just a regular little girl.

The rage came back, the rage that had helped me shatter my father-by-blood's hip. But cold rage this time. People thought I was Satan spawn but let creatures like this roam free?

My heart hammered as I waited for him, and I couldn't help sneering as I heard him stumble now and then in the dark. "Don't be scared, honey. I'll take care of you."

Not if I took care of him first.

When he grabbed my arm, his fingers closed tighter than they had to. "Got you!" He pressed something sharp into my side. "This is a knife," he whispered. "If you're really good maybe I won't have to use it. You're an evil-hearted little girl, and I'm going to teach you better. God has sent me to show you the path."

Instinct and four months of tae kwon do took over. I twisted and struck, burying his own knife into his side. The scent of blood made me sick and excited, but I kept my calm, just as Master Kim had taught me. I pulled his knife hand up hard, stopping only when the blade jammed as it hit bone, then threw him to the floor. He screamed, which didn't bother me at the time but made me throw up later. This time I felt no panic, loss of control, or urge to mercy.

I sat there, listening to his groans and wet-sounding attempts to breathe, until the lights came back on and the train started to move. A bloody, stinking heap writhed on the floor, leaving wet rusty streaks as he moved. Metal gleamed in the midst of the thick stain on his left side. Didn't look normal anymore, did he?

When he got his first good look at me, his bowels gave way and he started to moan, "No, no, no...." With one, precision strike down, I crushed his trachea and put him out of his misery.

I felt sick but calm too. I could do this. I could do this again. I could get the creatures who'd tortured Howard-Ubelhoer before they'd murdered her and make sure they never did it again. It was the least I could do in her memory.

I used a notice-me-not to get me out of the next station. Once I made it to the tiny SRO room we'd rented with my pickpocketing money, I threw up for a while, but after that I felt strong. Numb, but strong. I had a purpose.

I had a path set out before me.

Sunday, May 27
about 3:15 a.m.

As we listened to Sean and Jac trying to infuse calm and strength into the Shattered through music, we let it do the same to us. For a moment, I forgot everything. But only for a moment, since I remembered that Sean had his own past with the Sidhe on the West Coast and should be told that the Wild Rides were ranging further afield. Not knowing if the Sidhe could communicate across states or if Faerie was one continuous plane, we'd kept him as far away from the New York Sidhe as possible whenever he stayed in town.

Being the more telepathic of the two, Jac noticed us first and stopped playing. "Hey! It's been an age. And I'm sorry about everything, Cat."

That was me, pity object. "I'll get through."

"Has everyone been fed?" Merlin asked.

"Everybody but the new arrival in the last bed," Jac said. "Her nerves must have been especially seared, because she screams when you put a spoon an inch away from her mouth. I don't want to use telekinesis to force her to eat."

"I'll feed her," Merlin said softly and accepted a spoon and bowl from Jac. When he settled in a chair at the side of the girl's bed, I looked away. She started to scream.

Merlin showed a patience with the other Shattered that few of us could manage. Then again, he showed a patience about his own disabilities on a daily basis. I knew that he felt frustrated at times with his slower reflexes, his claustrophobia, his nerve damage, and the way he remembered only disconnected pieces of who he used to be. But he said that he felt fortunate, considering the condition most survivors are left in.

Most Shattering victims die, and they're the lucky ones. The 5% who survive lead a life of unending torment. Every touch sears them like a branding iron, with clothing and even the air against their hurting. While they feel the pangs of hunger and thirst they don't understand how to alleviate them, so they had to be fed and given water. But feeling anything against their lips or in their mouths hurt. We'd attempted to feed the Shattered intravenously, but they couldn't understand what we were doing and ripped the needles from their arms. Some of the ones who could still access their fae talents left a swath of destruction in their panic.

Their minds had been wiped clean. They can't remember anything from moment to moment either, so they lived each second of their lives as if it were their first. They can't learn anything new, and every person around them was always a stranger to be distrusted. The people who cared for them daily could expect no recognition.

The Devourers feed on pain and anguish. I sometimes wondered if the Devourers ever left their still-living victims. Maybe they remained lodged in the body, causing pain and feeding on it until the victim died.

I could smell the Shattered's pain. Pain has a smell, you know; it's hot, sharp, bitter, and acrid. Under the pain I could smell their sponge-washed bodies, shit, and confusion.

Many Undergrounders argue that it would be more merciful to kill the Shattered, but no one volunteered to be the executioner. Maybe because the Shattered looked so alive and could at least scream out their preferences. It wasn't like pulling the plug on somebody who couldn't breathe without a machine's help or on a brain-dead body lying their like a corpse. With the Shattered, it would be like killing a baby.

So we, Merlin especially, fed, cleaned, and cared for them. Short of killing them, it was all we could do. I always blocked out their telepathic emanations as much as possible, but I didn't stop shuddering until the screaming stopped.

When I looked back, I saw Merlin kneeling beside the bed in what looked like prayer. Given that he only had shards of memory from before, whether he did it in the Jewish or Christian way remained a mystery to me, one I'd never solve by making the move of finally asking him. He'd tell me if he wanted me to know.

I shook myself out of brooding and said, "I'm surprised you're here, Sean. Switchblade told you what I have on my tail." And Jac's memories told me that Switchblade had told them.

"Jac told me that the feds would be otherwise occupied tonight, so I'd be safe." Sean shrugged. "She's never been wrong about these things." Then he stood and offered me his chair. "Sit down. You look like hell."

"Oh, thanks, but I'm too tired to rest," I said, though I took off my pack and sat anyway. I felt zombified, and I could smell the cigarette smoke and sweat from earlier all over my body and clothes. Disgusting. Unfortunately, the shower I'd have to take would only wake me up further. "I'm going to crash soon, but it hasn't hit yet. Heard about my night?"

"Yeah. It sounds like it's starting all over again."

"How did that West Coast govie group know where to find the first fae touched it went after?"

"I never found out. When I blew the installation to kingdom come, I seem to have destroyed whatever they'd used to find us. But if it had been a machine, there might still be plans somewhere."

"Or, in my case, they could have seen me walking the Village or Midtown in one of those moments I didn't have the notice-me-not going," I said wryly.

"You're one of our most visible members, sort of our spokesperson in a way. It's what outriders are supposed to be."

"Yippee. Shoot me, why don't you?" Then a darker thought took hold. "Or they noticed my resemblance to Nicole Byrne and made a conclusion. You know, I never wanted to take the straight and narrow way, where I could see ahead in my life for years, but I wanted a twisting path where I chose the twists, not some government bigot or the Master of New York City."

"Welcome to my life," Sean said with a sigh. Jac elbowed him.

"Joel says that the Manhattan Sidhe are traveling farther and gaining more power in our world lately. I don't know if your Sidhe and our Sidhe trade notes, but it would be safer not to find out."

"They're not my Sidhe." His feelings of betrayal and being used hadn't faded over the years; you could Feel them on him. He lightened his tone. "So I'm supposed to avoid them as well as anyone who looks like a govie agent? Don't worry. I never travel alone anyway. Besides, I'm no Sidhe junkie. There was only one I would have jumped through hoops for, and that's over." His expression darkened. "Well, two. The rest of them were an arrogant, pompous bunch."

"But, Sean, that's what Sidhe do," I said and smiled when it made Sean laugh.

"I like the beads and feathers," Jac said, making me remember that I hadn't been given the time to take all of my decorated braids out. Jac and I spoke of inconsequential things like that, just catching up, while Sean leaned against the wall, hummed to himself, and stared off into space.

It was only when I felt my eyelids growing heavy that I realized he was humming a lullaby under his breath. Knowing how tired and wired I was, he was putting me to sleep far more gently than my body would have managed on its own. If I waited for the crash, I'd sleep but wake up still feeling weak, tired, and groggy. I had just enough time to feel outraged and grateful before I lost consciousness completely.

Sunday, May 27
about 3 a.m.

I was ready to go to bed, too tired to even shower the cigarette stench of myself away, but Merlin wanted to check in on the Shattered first, so I went with him, leaving The Best Revenge to go two doors away.

I braced myself as we opened the door, but, to my surprise, resplendent sound floated out. A flute sang of serenity and contentment, while a violin merrily described the kind of infectious joy that made you want to dance. I felt a rush of strength, and Merlin stood straighter. The Unholy Pair at work.

We walked into a room full of beds holding silver-haired Shattered. Few telepaths could remain in a room full of Shattered misery and static, but nobody understood the Unholy Pair's tolerance, my strong shields and long-term exposure helped me, and despite Merlin's small remaining psi-sensitivity, he never complained. I had to learn to deal, since I attracted them somehow. Merlin seemed to spend time with them out of survivor's guilt. There but for the grace of God....

Sean's fingers and mouth left frost on his flute as he played. It always surprised me how his physical beauty hit me, since I didn't usually pay much attention to that kind of thing. Some of us wondered if his good looks came from being 'touched. I also wondered what he'd looked like before the Shadows had turned his eyes and hair black and lusterless. Sometimes I could swear I saw writhing shapes within the black....

Jac played as if the music had to come out *now*. Eyes closed, she jerked and swayed as she played, the spike heel of her right boot hitting the floor to keep time, all things she hadn't been allowed to do during her old classical concert days. A prodigy who could play any instrument she cared to, she played them all with the same wild abandon. Her long, wavy black hair with the silver streak in it swung wildly.

They were bards, mages whose magic often manifested to them as and through music, and they'd first shown up in New York City two weeks before the quakes. If not for Sean, the quakes would have ripped through the Village and kept on going, though he couldn't say when or where they might have stopped on their own.

Despite being untrained in their magic, the Unholy Pair had escaped the Devourers that Shattered mages. The Devourers had never bothered Sean, and Jac had escaped an attack with only the slightest damage and a silver streak. The Underground didn't know if something in the bardic template gave a resistance to Devourers. Mages were rare enough, mages who were bards even rarer.

But Sean provided living proof that Devourers weren't the only creatures interested in using mages. When a few Shadows occupied an area, they were intangible, able to affect minds and souls but not able to actually touch things. The more of them congregated together, the more physical they became, eventually able to corrode anything with a touch. Once here, the Shadows would feed on all humanity, mundane and 'touched alike.

They had spoken to Jac once, but she'd dismissed them. Sean, the more emotionally vulnerable of the two, hadn't fared so well.