Notes

I took apart and re-assembled the over-large chapter with the Enoch stuff from the '07 NaNo. Originally, it was all Carey's pov, all at once, and it was just freaking huge. So, part became the just-posted Adir bit (with only a few slight additions and new bits). Another part became the just-posted Luce bit - I added a beginning and ending, and took out a middle chunk, which will be in tomorrow's Meres bit. I decided soon after finishing that year that Azal ought to be involved in all this, and so he will be. Adir/Carey could nooot have cared less, and so, they are removed when convenient. ;) I think it'll be a smidge less overwhelming now than it was before.. at least I hope so!

(And no, I didn't count any previously-written stuff in my wordcount. I even failed to count some things I wrote into the old sections, to make up for the couple of half-sentences I smuggled into the new sections. I'm a good lil NaNo'er.)

16 - Luce

       It is an unsettling evening. The wind has risen sharply, and a dingy gray blanket has obscured the normally lovely evening sunlight. Clouds race quickly overhead, as ink spilled on a page, the shades of darkness growing and receding as the blot spreads. I feel ill at ease, though I am not certain the reason. And so I walk the city streets, which are oddly comforting in their dinginess. The bricks and stones are black with soot and the stains of old rain, the air heavy with the breath of so many persons caught in the small spaces between the high walls. A city of this age always feels so weary, the very ground it stands upon worn by carrying the thousand travails of a million lives. Perhaps that is why we have settled here for a time, perhaps finding a sympathetic atmosphere, the wear of time that we feel made visible in this place.
       I turn a corner, and nearly collide with several small boys, playing wildly in the streets.
       “Look out! James, you almost hit him!”
       “Sorry sir!” the first one – smallest, probably youngest - calls back over his shoulder at me.
       “Boy. Come here.” My voice is not loud, but it is stern. The boy obeys, refusing to meet my gaze. “I believe you have something of mine.”
       “I... I'm sorry, sir, it must have fallen out when I bumped into you,” the boy babbles desperately, digging deep in his pockets, and pulling out my pocket watch. Well, a pocket watch. I had purchased it as a gift, but the fellow left the city quite unexpectedly, and I am not sure he will return. Not an outcome of our liaison that I had expected, but, it is no matter at the moment.
       I raise an eyebrow at this obvious lie, and the boy flushes.
       “You'll catch it from Mum now, see if you don't!” yells an older boy, sprinting back the way they had originally come.
       “No! No don't tell, if you tell, I'll tell her about yesterday, you'll just see!” The younger boy starts to run – pauses half an instant to bob his head at me, and mutter a “sorry sir” - then takes off after his companion.
       I chuckle to myself as I continue on my way. I do wonder what the mother will think of the ornate little absinthe spoon I slipped into the boy's pocket, as he returned his original theft to me? It is rather a shame that I am unlikely to see the outcome.
       Looking about, deciding which way to go from here, I realize I am in a familiar neighborhood. There is a tiny bookstore on the other side of the street, whose proprietor occasionally comes into some interesting merchandise. Around the next corner is... now let me see. I believe it is the residence of Father Mark Douglas, if memory serves correctly, and Claude explained it properly. I am sure he would be home at this hour – a visit with him might prove interesting, and perhaps be distraction enough to shake this strange mood that hangs over me.
       There is a light on in a room on the second floor, though none on the ground floor. I knock – there is no answer. I look for a bell or some other device, but there is nothing to be seen. Well then. I try the door, and find it is not locked. I suppose the man has no servants – odd, considering how accepting his Bible is of slavery. Ah well.
       “Hello? I don't mean to intrude---”
       “Luce?” Claude pops his head over the railing at the top of the stairway. “It is! Do, come in! I am so sorry, Mark refuses to let even his cook stay into the evening, so there was no one to open the door. Do come upstairs, there is wine and a bit of something to eat – we can get you more, if you'd like. Meres is here as well, we shall have ourselves a little party!”
       I cannot help but smile at his ebullience – I suspect he has had rather more of that wine than he is used to. He is young, and presumably in love, such is only to be expected. I look about for someplace to lay my jacket. The furniture is sparse, but he has not occupied the place long, and is probably still suffering from feeling a need to maintain the appearance of Christ-like poverty. We shall cure him of that, I am sure. Turning, I find an unsteady coat rack behind the door, and balance my jacket carefully upon it. Claude had disappeared from view the moment he finished speaking, presumably to announce my arrival.
       As I reach the top of the creaking, chilly stairs, Meres steps out of a brightly-lit room to meet me.
       “Luce.”
       “Meres! How delightful. I was in need of some pleasant company this evening.”
       He raises an eyebrow skeptically, keeping his voice low. “So long as you keep it pleasant. Please, do not toy too much with these – we would not want to scare them off too quickly. I believe they are just at the cusp of a new element to their relationship, and I should like to watch it progress as it will.”
       I laugh, and lean in to give Meres a quick embrace. “My darling Meres, kindest heart of us all. I promise you, I shall do no damage to the solace of their souls. You need fear no interference from me tonight. I am here only for the pleasure of good company, you may rest assured of that.”
       He relaxes a bit, and smiles in return, putting a hand to my elbow and leading me into the room. “Father Douglas, have you met our friend Luce?”
       “I have had that pleasure, yes – I believe he found me lost in his labyrinth!”
       There is laughter at this, and Meres and I seat ourselves where we can find space in the cluttered room. There are books and papers on every available surface, with sheets both freshly white and crumbling yellow. Claude is seated on a low stool near Mark's feet, and is halfway through another glass of wine. There is a bottle nearly-empty on a table – on my appearance, Mark rises, and pours a fresh glass, which he offers to me. I take it gratefully, and am pleasantly surprised at the quality of the vintage.
       Claude leans over, reaching behind a stack of books beside Mark's chair, and pulls out an unopened bottle of wine, which he sets on the table with a hazy flourish. Mark raises an eyebrow at the boy. “Where did you find that?”
       “I brought it up with us earlier this evening. I thought we might need more than the two bottles you carried, so I brought a few extra.”
       “But I did not see... oh, it does not matter. Still, I suspect you need not have much more.”
       “Ha! I am perfectly fine. So long as I am in your presence, I will be blessed with sobriety enough that I shall not miss a single detail of your beautiful personage.”
       Mark cannot help but blush at this, though he laughs and tries to shrug it off as a mere jest. It's rather sweet, to see the two of them together. I can see why Meres was concerned about me spoiling it. Still, I will do nothing to ruin it yet, for I am quite curious as to how far the priest will go along with the painter.
       We spend a little time in idle conversation, sipping our wine. Claude, it seems, has been discussing the inspirations for several of his recent paintings, but though he tries to resume his discourse, he finds himself unable to focus, and instead beings moving around the room like a caged pet, picking things up and asking Mark about them. Mark carefully replaces each thing Claude lifts and discards, making certain it is put back just where it was taken from. Most of the papers are of little interest, being study for an upcoming Sunday sermon. Still, there are some that bear the marks of a more academic research – texts on archeology, a few slim volumes on Canaanite and Chaldean cultures. Little is still known of these subjects, so I am quite surprised to see his interest in them.
       Claude finally alights on a book with some truly fine engravings, and curls up contentedly on his stool. “Mark, come sit down, I am done messing about with your papers, now that I have found something that I like. You can relax.”
       Mark chuckles softly, shaking his head, but resuming his seat nonetheless. I notice that Claude moves imperceptibly nearer the older man, and it is not long before his tousled head rests against the man's knee. I can see Mark's hand twitch, just a little, and I smile, knowing how much he is longing to tangle that pale hand in those dark curls.
       Following in the wake of some discourse on the subjects of the books Claude rummaged through, Meres manages to make his question entirely casual and unobtrusive:
       "So, Mark, dear, I ought to have asked far sooner, but whatever is it that had you so engaged in study when I entered this afternoon? I hardly dared distract you from it more than I had already done, so I did not inquire but allowed you to continue, you looked so very lost in it all. I am sorry I turned your thoughts aside from it!"
       "Please, don't concern yourself with that!” he laughs genially. “Quite an interesting road you pointed me toward, and I was in need of a diversion, to untangle my own path. But as for what I was looking into... Ah, well, I am afraid it is a bit of a personal indulgence, though of course all things eventually lead back to His service, you know."
       It is all I can do to not burst into laughter at this absolute naïveté. Oh what a consummate scholar! So perfectly out of touch with what living life and its pleasures will do to the soul. We simply must ensure he does not discover the depths of his error for quite some time, this is far too entertaining to listen to.
       "I do not know if you are familiar with it, but in the book of Genesis, just before the story of the Flood, there is a brief line regarding some scarcely-mentioned Biblical figures. It is said: 'That the sons of God saw the daughters of men that they were fair; and they took them wives of all which they chose.' Following that, there is a reference to giants being in existence in those times and in times which followed, 'when the sons of God came in unto the daughters of men, and they bare children to them, the same became mighty men which were of old, men of renown.' "
       I startle at this, feeling my heart pick up its pace. I do not dare to look at Meres. This... this was what little we allowed to remain in their knowledge, and so few have ever noticed the vague reference that it has been... oh I do not know how long, but so long! So long since we heard those words, and heard another speak of our true lineage. I fight my body's will, struggling to keep the shake from my hand as I take another long draft of wine. I will the alcohol to slip into my bloodstream, urging it to dull my senses, to soften my surroundings and make them just a little unreal, that I might make light of all things...
       "There are other references to giants, of course, but they are referred to by different names in the Hebrew, and appear to be merely different ethnicities encountered by the Israelites in their travels. The word used here, in this first reference, is nephilim, translating as "sons of God", or, more literally, "sons of the powers"... oh but I must be boring you, to go on so!"
       "No, no," Meres answers, his reply coming quickly, his voice remarkably calm, but I can hear the strain he feels in making it thus. "No, do go on... I am quite intrigued."
       "Well, I was profoundly struck by the strangeness of such an idea, certainly it was never covered in any of my lectures at school, or, indeed, any sermon I had ever heard. To think, that angels came from Heaven to lie with human women! Given the placement of this mention, it seems quite probable that this was the very reason for the Flood itself, to rid the world of these unwanted half-breeds, along with the other evils prevalent at the time. Of course this entire thing may be a mere construct, to allow for some dabbling into the vast pantheologies of all the cultures surrounding them - a loophole to let the early Jews fit in a little better with their neighbors, if you will, explaining the existence of semi-divine things in the world, figures like Hercules in the Greek mythos, though he was much later. All the same, I was intrigued, and began to research, and eventually began looking outside of the accepted canon of Scripture."
       Claude, who had been silently lost in his book up until now, suddenly cuts in. "You hadn't told me that! Is that really allowed, then?"
       Mark chuckles softly. "It depends upon who you ask. Really, there are some books within the canon itself that are quite controversial - the libraries of the past, while attempting to be comprehensive, did not always do the work we do toward verifying the authenticity of their collections. And so there are many things which seem, upon closer examination, to be mere derivations of other works, or use as sources other books which are now lost to us... really, the whole field of manuscript authentication is quite a maze, I have had all I could do to find what I needed without becoming overwhelmed by it!"
       "So where do you find these sorts of books? Does the seminary really keep such things in its library?"
       I have to smile a bit at this - we hardly need step in at all, to get the information we desire, the boy is so irrepressible. Still, this conversation is proving work enough, merely to survive it! To hear such strained references to a story we know so very, very well, and not fill in the glaring holes... to hear of those women we first thought we loved, those who seduced us and those who praised us, those whom we clung to, terrified... oh, such strange things happened in those times! All was confusion, we were intrigued and thought we knew precisely what we did, but we knew nothing of time and mortality and the physical form... and then all was washed away, by the torrents of God's curse upon us and our children, our children whom we never knew... We have learned so much since then, though we had thought we knew all! It is so long since I have thought of those days, it seems almost another life entirely. Yet... yet it is my life nonetheless, for despite the years, the pain can still be felt.
       "It does, yes, for research purposes of course. Hardly the original manuscripts, those are found only in the largest libraries. But there have been translations of most, and copies made of all, that study might be done. Although, one of the books I have found especially enlightening, I have found is still considered canon in Ethiopia!"
       Claude laughs lightly. "So the dark continent is yet dark, after all!"
       Mark smiles, but shakes his head. "How can we know? Perhaps they were the more intelligent, for having held onto such a book all these years, while it was elsewhere lost. Our own church fathers thought it gone for good, until fairly recently. The book of Jude makes reference to it, so it is not as though it were entirely shunned by our traditions – as the author of that book may have been the half-brother of Jesus, or an apostle, or at the very least a close associate of the earliest Christian church."
       I sneak a glance at Meres, and see him nod, his eyes dark and intense, a thousand thoughts streaming through them. I do not know what book it is of which he speaks, but it is one we should greatly desire to see.
       "And what book is this? I do not pretend any great knowledge of religious texts, but it has been of passing interest for me." I am amazed to find it is myself who has asked the question – and that I have kept my voice so calm, so smooth and refined. It feels as though the veins and arteries surrounding my heart have drawn close, and become knots. My hands are so cold, and I am reminded anew of how fragile and powerless these bodies are, after what we once had...
       "It is called the Book of Enoch, though its true authorship is of course highly disputed. When it was written is also questioned, particularly as it makes some messianic references which many think place it after Christ's ministry. Still, such references were made in the book of Isaiah as well... oh but I have gone so far from my subject!" He laughs, shaking his head. "But you must understand, I have studied this for years, and rarely have a willing audience for my findings. You must stop me if I ramble too much for your patience."
       "No, dear Mark, not at all,” I reply calmly. “We are in no hurry this evening, and the wine makes even the most dry conversation comfortable. I had hoped to hear some such interesting tale from you, when I decided to stop by. Do go on, you have such a pleasant speaking voice."
       I believe the man blushes, but it might well be a flush from the wine, which he is sipping scarcely less frequently than we. "This book of Enoch, it seems to be a compilation of several different sections, which may or may not have been written at the same time - there are all sorts of discrepancies, in names and positions and such, but really, there are discrepancies within the canon as well, the most obvious being among the lists of lineage."
       Ah, yet another bright spot in this man's theology - he focuses on the academic minutiae, reading over all with a critical eye. Really, we haven't a thing to worry about from him, he is so engrossed in learning that he will scarcely ever think of applying any of it to his life. He is in the field for its vast knowledge, not for love of the faith. I let his voice subside into gentle, caressing waves for a minute, letting my body relax, for it grows tired of the stone-like tension brought on by the content of the man's words. I cannot decide if I ought to coax him into fewer apologetics, for while the anticipation of something truly unpredictable is something I have not felt in years... it is not an entirely pleasant sensation in this instance.
       "...the book of the Watchers, really, is the one I have focused upon, along with the Dream Vision section. It tells of a group of angels who were instructed by God to watch over the human race in its infancy. The angels begin teaching mankind various things - it is not really clear if this was God's will or not - astronomy, weaponry, cosmetics, that sort of thing. They found women to be attractive, and lay with them, and had offspring which became the Nephilim. They did seem to realize this was a sin, for their leader bound the rest of them with him in an oath, that they would pay the price for the sin together, were they discovered. In the end, God banished them from Heaven for these sins, and it seems they came to Enoch to bid his intercession on their behalf. This in itself is an interesting concept, given that tradition shows angels to be in a station above that of man - yet apparently, this group was under the impression they could gain some special aid by enlisting one of them to their cause."
       "What was that, Meres?" Claude inquires curiously, leaning toward him. I look up, to see Meres seething with rage. Even I unconsciously move backward, keeping distance from him, for he is terrifying in his anger (as are we all, I suppose).
       The boy, however, does not quite have the intelligence to realize the depth of the fury flaming up into Meres' eyes. He moves his ottoman closer, and peers into Meres' face with the trace of a mischievous grin. "Whatever so bothers you about this idea? You look altogether offended!"
       "I am." His voice is a low growl, the words sublimated in ominous hatred.
       Mark, flustered, begins a confused apology, but Meres cuts him off. "Go on! Did I tell you to stop? Continue, and keep the boy from so interrupting, or I shall cut his tongue out from his head."
       Even I am taken aback by this sudden blaze of undignified rage. Claude, thankfully, finally realizes the seriousness of the situation, and moves hastily back to Mark's side, bewildered and more than a little terrified. I do hope they will chalk it up to too much wine.
       Timidly, nervously, Mark resumes. "Well, I... where was I? Oh, yes. In any event, Enoch's intercession is contained in a later part of the overall book, which repeats many ideas from the first part. There is a bit of uncertainty, though, on the fate of the fallen angels. Obviously the text has been greatly corrupted through the centuries, less stringent care having been kept of it than most of the canonical books. On the one hand, God commands several of his archangels - Michael, Raphael, Gabriel, and Uriel; this book is quite wonderful at providing names to what are canonically nameless beings - to bind the fallen ones, the leader in particular, burying him under rocks, until he is cast into fire at the final judgment. Uriel is then sent to warn Noah of the impending flood. Yet in the Dream Vision section, the judgment is applied more generally to the earth, and it almost seems as though the fallen might have been carried on the ark. In either case, given this source and others, it looks as though the Nephilim may all have killed each other off, been hunted out by the Israelites, or merely died from lack of nutrition - it seems their immense height put a bit of a strain on the resources for survival, and they consumed all that was available, in the end resorting to cannibalism, for God's sake! Cannibal angels. Really, it is almost a tale for the tabloids - I suppose that is why I find it so engaging!" he finishes with a slightly-embarrassed laugh, glancing anxiously at Meres. "But, there, I have tired you enough, I must have worn your nerves terribly by the strangeness of the story. Is there anything I might get you, Meres?"
       Meres has buried his face in his hands, his hair hanging low before his bowed head. He sighs deeply, taking a slow breath. With everyone's attention thus diverted, I take a moment to compose myself as well, breathing slowly and taking another long sip of wine. I do feel a touch of its sweet numbness settling into my limbs - a thing I am most grateful for. I dab the corner of one eye with my kerchief, and drink a little more wine. It was not an easy tale to hear, corrupted and vague though it was...
       "More wine, please," he sighs softly, his voice faint and exhausted. Mark obligingly refills his glass, and offers him the plate of pastries, but Meres waves it away, taking only the glass. He drinks half of it in one long draft, then takes another slow breath. Finally his gaze returns upward, and meets Mark's. "Mark, darling," he says smoothly, his voice so soft it is a silken caress, a lover's light touch, the whisper of a child, the murmur of a courtesan. "This book you were talking of, by Enoch. Do you have it here?"
       "I do, yes, I have it on loan from the seminary."
       "Do you think you might lend it to me? I should love to examine it in more detail."
       He takes a slow breath, and shakes his head apologetically. "I am afraid not, as the library is quite strict in their policies. It took some doing for me to be able to borrow it beyond the seminary grounds alone, and I must return it quite soon."
       "Darling..." Meres croons in a low voice, leaning forward and placing a gentle hand on the man's knee. The seduction in his voice is powerful, so smooth and rich, and I can feel the electricity in his gaze and in his touch even at a distance. (Or perhaps it is only the wine, and the recent amplifications of memory...) "Dearest Mark, you must know I can be trusted with it. Would I so betray your confidence in me? I am not one of the vulgar masses, or even one of the blind to whom you tirelessly preach. I know the importance of this volume, I shall of course treat it with great care. I should only like to peruse it myself, for I am intrigued by the story you tell."
       "I'm very sorry to disappoint you, but I really can't..."
       Meres' gaze shifts again, and though there is still seduction, there is also threat seeping through his voice. "Oh, I am terribly sorry to hear that, I should have so liked to only borrow it, for my own edification... No, no, you need not apologize more, dear, clearly you have no power here." He takes a long draft of his wine, sinking back into his chair tiredly.
       Claude tries to insert some light conversation in the uncomfortable silence, but it plummets dully in the thick air. Where Meres has cast his disapproval, there is no recovery. I have been quietly resolving what I shall do, now that this diversion seems to be ending. Of course I might go with Meres, but I do not think either of us should like to discuss what we have heard. Oh, I should like very much to know what exactly remains of our story, but I hardly think it will be worth the effort of researching it on our own, when Mark has delved so deeply already. And hearing it all told again, will certainly not heal wounds already made. There can be nothing in the fragments of half-forgotten histories that would be of any use to us - surely not, it is silly to raise one's hopes so frivolously. If Mark finds something of worth to us, it will come out, and we shall all enjoy its benefits, there is no need for me to trouble myself with the process. Meres will hear it from Claude, or from Mark, and if it is worth hearing, he shall pass it along.
       Meres is now in a horribly foul mood, and I know as well as anyone how difficult it is to rouse him from such a mood. He will likely do some heinous violent thing before the night is out, to releave his passions. Or perhaps he will paint instead – I have heard rumors he has been attending to his long-abandoned canvases again. I am pleased to hear it, for he seems able to capture such elusive truths in his paintings, things which could hardly find expression in life.
       In any event, my amusement here is done for the evening. It is time to move on.
       "Are you going, Luce?" Claude asks, a note of anxiety in his voice. I believe he is frightened of what Meres might do, without myself there as - what, mediator? intercessor? pacifier? Hardly! He probably assumes Meres will not make a scene with me present - and he is correct, but not to the extent he believes himself to be. Meres will probably not commit a murder with me standing by, but that is only because he conducts even murder with such artistic flair. That scene at my rose party...
       "I am. It grows late, and I have another visit to make before I retire for the evening. I thank you very much for the society, gentlemen – it has been quite an edifying evening.”
       Mark offers his hand, and I take it, squeezing it warmly and looking solidly into his eyes. He has no guess as to the effects his story had upon us. That is well.
       Claude hops up and shakes my hand vigorously. “Do visit again soon. We shall keep Mark from babbling on so the next time.”
       I chuckle, and tap his chin lightly. “That you might babble in his place, dear boy? No, it is no matter – I am glad to hear such passionate speech, whoever it might be from.”
       Meres does not rise, so I lean my head down, and murmur gently in his ear. “They know of no truth in it, it is only mythos. Do not trouble yourself over things long gone.”
       He sighs in exaggerated sufferance, and waves me away dismissively. "Certainly, darling." The tension in the air around him is still palpable, and Claude is determinedly keeping his distance, almost clinging to Mark for safety.
       "Have a pleasant evening," I say, with an amused smirk at the impossibly awkward group. "I shall show myself out." And so I do, before I become entangled in the impossible paradox of manners that they must sift through. Ah, Meres... you are too close to the world you live so passionately within. Take a little distance, and view it all as the stars do – small things, moving small distances, and making no ripples at all on eternity.
       I step into the dark streets, still undecided on where I shall go next. I pick a direction at random, and begin to walk, breathing in the cool night air, finding solace in the chill which seeps through my skin, and works into my heated blood. Cold, the light of stars, and I can almost imagine that I am as distant from all these things as I once was, when I spent my nights in those distant skies, where I could see so far, and watch without care...

15 - Adir

       "But Adrian, how could you slight me so! You simply had to have known I was planning something, I even asked you what your favorite sort of wine was! I arranged my schedule so that we should be in the area at the same time, and it was the day marking our two-month anniversary!"
       I struggle to keep myself from bursting into laughter at this last. "Darling... you hardly have a ring."
       She is annoyed. "Well of course I haven't got a ring, are you mad? You know how obsessive Richard is about money and possessions and all, he would spot it in a minute and demand where I'd gotten it and---"
       At this point I do allow myself a patronizing chuckle, patting her hand gently to silence her. This condescension will make her petulant, but her lips form such a lovely little pout! That pout is a large part of the reason I tolerate her possessive dramatics. "Dear, dear, of course, I know. And have I not made certain that all my gifts to you were thus transient things, intangible things?"
       "Yes of course, but really Ade, how could you forget?"
       I wave my hand vaguely, feigning an airy nonchalance. "I'm afraid it truly did slip my mind. I had that important luncheon at the club, and then I met that German businessman - I must have told you about him, the one with the hideous vest? - and you know I simply could not brush him off, his position is far too prestigious."
       She raises a sly eyebrow. "More prestigious than your own, my dearest?"
       This entire alibi is, of course, a complete fabrication. But I had wished she would not question it, it would make things much more simple if she did not. "I meant professionally, darling. His standing is obviously far below mine, but within the scope of his sort of business, I do not show on the register at all. But I do not expect you to know such things, women really weren't given the minds for business."
       "Oh, I do not question that; already I feel tired, simply from hearing you speak of it," she replies wearily, settling herself on the sofa. "Do come sit beside me; I am still put out, but I suppose I shall forgive you. Have you brought me anything?"
       I sit beside her, taking from my jacket pocket a small box of absurdly expensive chocolates. She, not surprisingly, recognizes the confectioner's trademark design upon the box, and snatches it eagerly from my hands, her eyes shining brightly.
       "Oh, you dear thing! However did you know, I had been simply ravenous for some of these, but you know Richard would simply have a fit if I ever suggested the idea. I did once, you know, when we had only just been married, and had yet to tire of each other's company. We still took walks together and things in those days... ah, it feels as though it were only a scene in a book I read, long ago! But we passed the shop, you know, the one on Elm Street, where I'm sure you must have bought these, it is the only shop on this side of the city. And it was winter, my cheeks were growing cold and my feet were quite damp, so I wanted to stop somewhere to warm myself, and I thought why shouldn't we go into some place where I should at least be interested in the store's wares! But Richard wouldn't hear a word of it, can you believe that? He would not even let us walk inside, he said it would be silly to even entertain the notion of spending such absurd amounts of money on such a frivolity - and rude to the shopkeeper, if we went in and made no purchase at all, which would most certainly be the case. Oh was I ever annoyed with him at that! How like a man! Is it really always nothing but business with men?"
       I put on my best expression of tender reassurance, and stroke her hair soothingly. "No, my dear, not with all of us," I lie smoothly, then kiss her temple gently.
       She instantly turns her head from me, but not before I see the blush blossom in her cheeks. "Now, none of that, you know how I feel about that. If I allow you one move you shall take a thousand."
       "Of course, darling, I apologize. I only meant it as a gesture of comfort." She would have slapped me and turned me out entirely had I done that a mere fortnight ago - I really do think I shall bring her to take me as a true lover within another month or so. It is a thing she has never done - she seeks flattery more than anything from her men on the side. She has never allowed one even a kiss, and so she believes herself to be faithful to her husband, though her heart left him behind long ago, and her only thoughts of him are annoyance. In the meantime, she spends every moment possible sneaking around and enjoying the company of other men, gorging herself on their sweet words and yearning looks, their restrained passions and generous gifts. She has the emotional state of one who is completely fulfilled by her relations of infidelity. Really, her spirit is more bound up by her extramarital activities than many women I have known, who slept with a new lover every night!
       "---and so I simply must find a way to get that new hat before Clara's party! Have you any ideas?"
       Enough of my mind had listened to her while my focus was elsewhere that I recognize I ought to answer, and know how I am expected to.
       "Doesn't the milliner's daughter owe you a favor? You will forgive the reminder, for I am sure you recall perfectly that party back in June, where you---"
       "Oh yes, that's just the thing!" she exclaims, nearly clapping her hands in girlish delight, her eyes shining brightly. "Why, I had almost forgotten. But she would have been in a simply awful situation, had I not been there to help. Certainly she of all people will understand my need in this case, of course she will help me - and she's such a bright girl that I am certain she will be able to arrange the details so that even dowdy old Richard is satisfied."

       And so the afternoon passes, with her endless chatter, and my indulgence to her every slight concern. She has the wine she had bought brought to us, and the bottle is soon empty. (Richard will be late in returning this evening, he will expect to find her asleep, and so her inebriation will be of no consequence.) She allows me to run my fingers over her hand and arm - pretending she does not notice, but I see the flush of her pale skin, and feel the goosebumps which rise in anticipation of my touch.
       Oh, I shall certainly have her! It is a subtle game I must play here, but I delight in the challenge. This day will undoubtedly cost me several days banishment from her presence, for she will remember my unasked-for touches, and she is terrified by what they might mean to her - yet excited all the same, and so I shall soon be permitted to return.
       In any event, it is not as if I shall be starved for company in the meantime. Carol has begun to complain to her set that I am neglecting her (as I am, intentionally). Elizabeth needs someone to accompany her to that dinner tomorrow night, and she believes me to be the most well-suited to the expected atmosphere (as I had planned, and thus I had her invited in the first place). David's play opens Thursday, and Mephisto is - unexpectedly, and quite strangely - going to be away, and will not be able to attend, and of course the dear boy ought to have the support of at least one compassionate soul in the audience. (Mephisto would truly be more suited to this task than I, he has such a ridiculous weakness for these theater boys. But it will prove useful to me in several ways to make an appearance, I think.) And then Sadie will be returning from Paris this very evening, and it simply would not do for me to miss greeting her upon arrival.
       My calender is really quite full for the rest of the week at least, I have plenty of room for one of Rebecca's moods.
       I ought to buy her a ring, simply to see if she will see the jest, or be terrified and throw me from the house. Either would be quite amusing, I really must pursue the idea. I know of a wonderful jeweler who owes me some favor, perhaps I shall call it in.
       But for now, I bid her goodnight, after seeing that a maidservant is handy to guide her up the stairs to her bedchamber - I do not think she would make it that far in safety, she really does not have much tolerance for alcohol in any form. (Richard being, as always, the reason - he believes in temperance, and that alcohol leads to all sorts of dreadful debauchery, and above all leads people to spend exorbitant amounts of money on a thing that shall be gone in an evening. Such a reasonable man, no wonder she hates him so.)

       The streets grow darker even as I walk through them, the lamps lit but making little headway against the shadows. The year is waning, the sun growing weary and turning early away from the pale skies. It must have rained in the time I spent indoors, for the ground is damp, and scattered with a few glistening puddles, which reflect the lamps in dull, shaky contortions. There is a chill breeze, and I pull my jacket closer around me, ducking my chin down into the collar. It is just as well the weather induces this posture, for I do not want to look approachable, I have too many things to think of. Sadie should be disembarking about now, and she said to meet her---
       Oh, where was I to meet her! A sudden panic floods my mind, my heart stops up short and my breathing is stunted. Where did she say--- was it at the hotel? No no, it must have been--- oh where was I to meet her! Why can't I remember? I have kept track of a thousand appointments, with a hundred different persons, all in the same week, why can't I remember this one little thing? This has never happened to me. I have never had to sink so low as to keep the sort of pocket calenders and appointment books that men so often rely on, I will not do so now! I do not need to. Did she even tell me where to meet her, or was the information neglected in some side path of conversation...
       She told me. I can hear her voice in my mind, low and sultry, her eyes dark with promise, as she murmured that when she returned from Paris, I should meet her---
       I cannot remember.
       ...I cannot remember!
       Terrified, I begin to run. I have no idea where to, but I am possessed by a sudden urgency, and I need to run. My feet pound on the pavement, the few persons on the street stare at me in confusion or - in the case of those whose path I ignorantly cut off - stern annoyance. I care nothing for them, I run, my lungs beginning to burn, I do not usually engage in such exertions - though of course my body is far superior to the usual mortal form. But I have not felt such rasping tears through my lungs in centuries, not since---
       Oh no no no not that! No. It has not been so long, why did I think of that? That is long behind me now, another life, another existence, another world. I have run many times, in pleasure and in need, why I ran that marathon centuries ago, Luce and I joined as a jest, and he won, I lost only because there was such a beautiful woman in sight of the road, and, really, her attentions were worth far more to me at the time than a silly race! Ah, she was truly lovely, eyes of emerald and jade and olives tinged with the warmth of flame, her hair such long dark waves down her back, her tanned skin, so smooth and warm, the strength in her arms...
       Sadie where the devil are you! I shall have to find some grand excuse for not being there. She really is a favorite of mine, and unfortunately she is fully aware of this fact.
       I try not to make it a habit to have my true feelings known - it is far more entertaining to leave everyone guessing, or better still, under false impressions. Especially when one lives, as I do, in a world filled with feints and subtle insult, careful innuendo and the most delicately shaded double-entendres. It is such a wonder, to see their little minds scurry about so, astonished by things just slightly out of alignment from expectation...
       I am walking now. I have not yet discovered where I am going. What has happened to me? I have long since mastered the art of poise. I have never in hundreds of years let down my guard for a moment and let any mere mortal see my true face. I have never lost my composure in public. Really, I am quite proud of this, for it is not always the case, even among us. Why, just a few weeks past, Mephisto entirely lost consciousness in the middle of a party! I do not know if it was the wine or some untold exertion on his part, but gracious, was it embarrassing! He did not even have the decency to lie still and placid in his slumber, his coma, whatever it was. I haven't the faintest how long he lay unconscious, for the party had moved on for some time before he found his way into the drawing room. I tried to engage him in conversation, to allow him the chance to brush off with some casual excuse his earlier embarrassment... but he was too stupid to see the opportunities I made him, the fool. I really do think he lets himself become too swayed by his relationships with these silly human children, it shall serve him a much-needed lesson when I attend that play in his place, and have my way with his little whim of the moment.
       I know how best to handle these near-sighted creatures - they are playthings to such as us, and should be considered no more seriously than a boy thinks of the stone he kicks down the street.
       A boy... there is a boy here. He looks at me curiously, and I hasten to avert my gaze and look terribly preoccupied. But it is too late, he approaches, and hails me. "Sir! Do wait just a moment, I..."
       It is then that I recognize him - it is Claude, that painter, whom everyone is simply raving over, the one apparently bedding the priest. An interesting child, to be sure, but not one whom I wish to become entangled with just now. "I am in a bit of a hurry, what is it you wanted?"
       "I... well I was actually just going to ask if you had the time, until I realized it was you. May I walk with you awhile? I was wanting someone to talk to, what a happy chance you appeared!"
       I roll my eyes in the darkness, and struggle to keep my voice polite. "I suppose you might. I am on my way to... to meet someone. But she may not yet have arrived, so I am not in a very great rush," I finish, almost with relief, having found a wonderful way to stall, and give my memory time to find the information it seems to be avoiding.
       "I see," he replies vaguely, quickly picking up on the discretion I wish to keep about the nature of my errand. Smart boy. But I knew he was intelligent - I have spent a bit of time with him myself, and know that it is not pure luck that has allowed him to seduce a man of the very cloth. Oh, I am simply dying to ask him about that! But I must find a way to couch it casually, it would not do to be seen prying, or, indeed, to show that there is a thing he knows that I do not. (Oh for those days in which that was truly the case! But our sight has dimmed, in the murky fog which binds this earth, and so our sight has grown... a little less comprehensive, a little less vast.)
       "But whatever are you doing out so late?"
       He smirks at me, falling into step alongside me. "I am hardly a child, though I know you think me one. I had... some engagements of my own, this evening."
       "And how is that painting going, the one commissioned by the priest?"
       His grin grows wider. "Why, it's really going quite beautifully. I have found some particularly striking models to paint from, and Mark has been such a dear about it all - why, he has even come to sit with me while I am painting! He is quite enthralled by the entire process, which is unusual in a patron, especially one with so many professional obligations." He shrugs non-nonchalantly, his voice light and confident. "But I suppose he finds me as fascinating as I find him. He certainly does seem interested in a great many aspects of my life - including my association with all of you."
       I chuckle. "I suppose he would... we are quite different from his usual associates, I should think."
       "Of course. And he would like very much to understand why it is you indulge in such earthly pleasures, giving no thought to others or the hereafter... but, between you and I, I think he really has a far better understanding of it than he lets on."
       "I had guessed as much. However did he end up in such a profession, if he is so drawn to the arts and such things?"
       "Oh, he attributes all beauty to God's handiwork, you know the sort. But I have made him swear never to do so with my works - I simply will not have him pass off all the credit on something I have put so much into, the work is mine, damn it all!"
       We laugh, as his remark was not entirely meant to be taken seriously - though we both know how very serious he was in his demand of the priest.
       On a sudden impulse, I grab the boy's arm. "Claude, dear, was there any particular place you were heading just now?"
       "Well, I hadn't any plans set, for I have done with all my engagements for the evening. But I was thinking to visit with Mark for awhile, I have not seen him in a day or so."
       Oh what perfect coincidence! Really, this is not an opportunity to be missed. (And it is a seductive enough one that, perhaps, I shall convince myself that I did not truly need to meet with Sadie so soon upon her return...) "Ahh... does he always keep such late hours?"
       The child laughs lightly. "He does! He would labor until daylight, oblivious of the time passing, if I did not interrupt him. His books, you know, he is simply always researching some arcane reference or another. It seems he developed quite an immunity to exhaustion as a student, it has become one of my pet projects with him to remind him that there is a time for sleep, as well as for study."
       I chuckle and glance at him slyly. "And have you had any such luck, getting him into bed?"
       He laughs brightly, twining his arm in mine. "Ah, not yet, not yet! But I do have great hopes in that direction. Another of my pet projects, you know."
       "But of course, dear. Would you mind terribly if I joined you? I should very much like to meet him - I mean, in a more informal, conversational way. We have been introduced in passing, and I have seen him at some distance several times, but I have not yet had the pleasure of speaking with him."
       "Ah... then it is pleasure indeed you have been denied! He has an absolutely beautiful voice. That was how I found him, incidentally. I was walking along a street, early one morning. I had not been able to sleep the night before, and I walked in hopes of tiring myself into rest. Being a lovely day, the church doors had been left open, and I caught some scrap of his passionate sermon. I was drawn to such a fluid, expressive tone, and made my way inside, finding a seat in the back. For some time I, in my sleepless daze, listened only to the melodies of his voice. Gradually however, the words began seeping through, and I became intrigued. He spoke in rebuke of other priests, saying they ought not to focus so on dangers of the flesh - for what is the flesh amongst eternity?"
       I smile warmly. "Nothing, of course, though the soul may well follow where the body leads."
       "Precisely!" he laughs, his eyes flashing with devious intent. "Not that he has yet realized this - and do, pray, refrain from telling him. I should like to see how far along we can bring him before he thinks of it."
       I see why the others are so fond of this boy - his plots are quite like to ours. Such a devious child. Yet I must admit, his use of "we" grates on me. I do not like his casual tone, considering himself among equal company. We may have to do something to rectify such presumption before it turns to outright arrogance. "What, then, is his unique and so-precious message, which he preaches with such passion?"
       "Oh, it is terribly progressive, you know. All about reserving judgment for God, and accepting the choices of others. He is attracted to the apparent subjectivity of things - what one generation perceives as proper behavior is abhorrent to another. The many wives of the patriarchs and the length of women's skirts this season. Morality is always and ever shifting. So man ought to do what his own sense imparts to him as proper conduct in a given situation, for we cannot hope to grasp the Ultimate Good intellectually, and we ought not try, for only God Himself can contain such a vast concept."
       "So in essence, man may do whatever he wishes, and lull himself into believing he is only doing what God has set for him to do, as a part of some unknowable good. Which man is not at all responsible for explaining, so he need not even have any real excuse for his improper behavior, for he was following his God-given instinct."
       "You see why I love this man," he confirms with a wink. "This is a non-doctrine that even I can live under."
       "I suppose all this goes over quite well with his wealthy - and, thus, undoubtedly of questionable moral character, whether in business or personal dealings - parish?"
       "Oh of course, they simply adore him! They're always bragging about what a brilliant scholar he is, with such radical and fresh interpretations, that "truly suit the spirit of the modern age", you know the sort of thing."
       "Using their praise of him as a way to raise their own standing."
       "And so delighting in him all the more," he adds wryly, looking rather peeved. Why, I do believe the boy truly cares about this man! Or perhaps he is merely jealous that they should steal the prestige of this one away from himself, that by their supposed connections with the man, his own true connection appears less to the outside world.
       What this boy should be intelligent enough to see, is that the popular mood will soon shift, as it always does, and unless this man changes with it, he shall fall rapidly from this place of high esteem. I do not know if he is the sort of man who will change with the times, or cling desperately to his convictions. Rationally, given his doctrine, he should do the former, but one never quite knows with such people. Their convictions so often get the better of their common sense.
       "But here we are!" Claude calls out happily - I can feel the sudden rush of joy and excitement which runs through him as a bolt of lightening. Oh, that familiar flood of hormones, when the object of one's desire is near! I am amazed the priest has not felt it himself, that electrical charge which sparks through the air, signaling a looming storm of lust.
       But perhaps he is not ignorant of it...
       The boy approaches one of the many identical doors which line the brick edifices running along the street. There is nothing at all to separate this one from a hundred others - I suppose some show of humility, to live in no better lodgings than one's fellows. What a ridiculous sentiment, humility. But the boy rings, and there is no answer, even after several minutes.
       "Is he not at home, then?" I inquire.
       The boy is looking up at the windows of the narrow section above the doorway. "No, he is there! I can see the lamplight from a farther room, in that upper window there. His study does not face the street, too many distractions you know, and that is certainly where he is, which explains why he does not answer. And I'm sure he's sent the housekeeper home, he never lets her stay long after the evening meal is served. He says he has long-since learned to keep a place up on his own, and anyway she has some old and sickly relative at home to look after."
       "A compassionate man," I mutter, a little disappointed.
       "Well, he is in the Christian ministry, he will have some faults in him," he answers with a chuckle. He tries the door and finds it unlocked. "Ah! I am sure his mind needs a break by now – it seems he was too caught up in his scholarly muddle to even to lock the door this evening. Let us relieve him, then."
       Amused by his command of the situation, and his casual trespass upon property not at all his own, I let him lead me inside. He hangs our coats in the small entryway, and leads the way upstairs. The apartment is largely sparse, with the trademark austerity of a poor student - but there are hints of a more luxurious taste. It is quite dark, but I get a quick glimpse into the sitting room, where Claude's painting shall be hung, and see that it is in fact being converted into a rather sumptuous place.
       "Mark, dear! Would you mind terribly a bit of company?" the boy calls out as we reach the top of the stairs. We move toward an open doorway, through which the light of several lamps is pouring in satin sheets of gold. As we draw close to it, the light is suddenly blocked by a figure---
       We stop, startled, for it is not the priest.
       It is Meres.
       "Meres, darling! Whatever are you doing here!"
       "Aidr! I had not thought to meet you here. Were you not to meet Sadie tonight?"
       Neither of us shows the slightest cringing at the barbs woven into our words. We are each annoyed at the intrusion of the other, and both suspicious of our motives. Clearly, he sees something has gone awry with me - hinting not only at that blasted girl's apparent importance to me, but also that I was weak enough to let something deter me from my plans. I, meanwhile, have my own suspicions about him. I know how close he is with the boy - has jealousy brought him here to coerce the man away from the boy? Or is it something utterly ridiculous like seeking out his guidance, listening to his message? Or, ha! even seeking absolution, for the death of that man we all know he flogged into ribbons at Luce's those few weeks ago? One really never knows with Meres. He is far too kind to Veri, and that show of, what, compassion? has always made me suspicious of him. Really, there is no good reason at all for him to be here tonight, and at this late hour, despite his fascination with the boy.
       Of course, we will show no hint of any of this before these mere mortals. It is a private matter, and we will not sink to addressing such things, where men might presume to give advice and, ha! and try to judge between us and act as counselors. What ridiculously presumptuous creatures they are.
       Claude has meanwhile gone into the room and greeted Mark, making some cursory introduction of me. He is clearly confused himself about Meres' presence, and I am amused in spite of myself to see the boy's confidence thus thwarted.
       "Oh do not stand out there in the dark hall, gentlemen!" Claude calls out cheerfully. "I shall endeavor to find you places to sit. Never fear, I know there are chairs - and comfortable ones, too, which are being wasted on making dusty old books cozy."
       There is a laugh in reply, a rich, warm voice, and as we enter I see that it is Father Mark Douglas laughing.
       He is an unusually handsome man, for one dressed in the cloth (though, to be clear, he is not dressed so now, but in more casual design, an outfit clearly exhausted by his student years). His light hair is tousled, his eyes bright with that boundless curiosity of the young intellectual. He would look quite striking, if he were polished up a bit - we must try to do so sometime.
       He flushes a bit, seeing Claude rush about the room, tossing piles of books aside. "I really had not been expecting company. I was quite deep into my research before everyone arrived."
       "And I must claim just a touch of fault," adds Meres as he gracefully perches in a chair, as lightly as some exotic bird on an ancient statue. "For I did nothing to help him, only let him continue studying while I perused a bit of his library."
       I cannot help but raise an eyebrow at this - whatever could Meres be researching here? But no matter, I shall find out soon enough I am sure. If nothing else, I am certain I could learn from Claude. He is much more free with his tongue (in the Biblical sense, this time) than I think Meres knows.
       Having thrown the priest's precarious organization into disarray (I notice the man does not seem to mind), Claude alights on the corner of his desk. "Oh, no blame rests with you at all, Meres, the man is a terrible host. Luckily he has me to help him. Might any of you want anything to drink? I shall include you in that request, Mark dear, for I doubt very much you have given any thought at all to such mortal matters in some time?"
vThe man laughs gently, ruffling his hair in embarrassment. "Really, Claude, you show me in such terrible light! Hush now, and let me be host in my own house? ...Gentlemen, forgive me. Is there anything at all I can get you? I am afraid my housekeeper has gone home for the evening, but I am not entirely inept in matters of the kitchen, and at any rate I can manage a drink or two."
       "A glass of wine for me, dear, whatever you happen to have handy," Meres replies casually, waving his hand vaguely as he sinks back into the chair. He lifts a book from a nearby table, and flips idly through it.
       I raise an eyebrow at him. "You expect a priest, in a tiny little apartment as this, to have a wine cellar, darling?"
       "Well, actually..." The man flushes as we turn curious gazes on him. "I must admit to having a few bottles about the place. Gifts, you know, I've had all sorts of well-wishers, who don't seem to find any trouble at all with a man having a bit now and again, for purely social reasons you know." But a spark of amusement flickers into his eyes as he speaks, and I smile as I realize he is a true adherent to his proclamations. No fear of the sins of the flesh, indeed!
       "If that be the case, then do bring a bottle or two up, I could use a glass as well," I reply casually.
       "Anything to eat, gentlemen?"
       "No, the wine will be sufficient," I answer for us both - I care little if Meres takes offense at my presumption, for I am sure to offend him in a moment anyway, when I demand to know why he is here. I stretch myself back upon a faded divan... really, I feel almost embarrassed to rest upon such dingy furnishings, there is not the slightest pretense of care for them! But I remind myself that he is a work still in progress, which is showing promise enough. And he is an interesting enough prospect that I am not yet bored with watching the process of careful conversion.
       "And you, Claude?"
       The boy flashes a bright, dazzling smile, and hops off the desk. "Why, I was going to help you. I must admit I could use something to nibble on, but I won't have you waiting on me so---"
       Meres interrupts him with a disapproving cluck of the tongue. "Now, Claude, what have we discussed?"
       The boy rolls his eyes. "We have discussed many things but I shall do as I please, thank you!" He glides out the door without a backward glance.
       Mark pauses just a moment, his expression a mixture of exasperation and fondness for the child.
       "Oh do not think to apologize for the boy," I put in hurriedly, anticipating some tired excuse. "He is a child, and it is partly his impetuousness that we find so endearing."
       He smiles wryly, but with a look of understanding in his eyes - that is precisely the way he feels. At least, that is the part which he allows himself to recognize that he feels...
       Now that I have seen the painter and the priest together, I have seen the hunger in both their eyes. Claude should have sense enough that Meres and I do not expect them to return to the room in any particular hurry. When they have gone, I look over to Meres. He is flipping idly through the ragged, yellowed pages of some antiquated volume.
       "Really, Adir, you ought to see some of the things he has here. A few are quite rare, and very old. I can't fathom where he obtained certain of these manuscripts, I almost have to suspect he has taken them from the university library, for certainly he does not have the means to---"
       "Meres. You would really expect me to believe you are here merely to peruse some old books? You have far more in your own possession, and you were present for the writing of half of them."
       He laughs lightly, a sound without mirth. "Adir... however can you be so suspicious of me? You are the one who is acting rather strangely. You have no reason at all to be here, you barely know Claude and yet you tagged along with him like a lost puppy."
       I expected him to take shots back at me, I expected him to try to anger me... but it angers me all the same, though I certainly saw it coming. I can feel my body tensing, heating with the strength of the emotion, and my jaw hardens my voice into icy stone. "Can I not chose my own amusements for an evening, without your prior approval, my darling?"
       "But when, pray tell, have you ever chosen to be apart from Sadie, especially after such a long separation? Really, my dear, it is quite ridiculous of you, to rag so on poor Mephisto for his passionate attachments, when you do no better - truly, you do worse, for at least he does not maintain them so long!"
       His cool air of placid commentary only makes my own temper burn the hotter. I know that he is aware of this, and I know he is thus doing so intentionally, but the heat of my passions warms at last this blood which runs so cold, and I cannot help but delight in the rush of vivid sensation it gives me. "Mephisto!" I spit out, snarling. "Oh do not compare me to such a pathetic thing as he, one could swear he had forgotten he was ever more than them. He shall become a thing as lowly as those he so dotes on. He is a complete slave to his body and its temporality, to the ever-shifting winds of hormones and passing thoughts. He is hardly one of us anymore, do not compare me to such as he."
       "So what of Sadie? My, but your emotions flare when I mention her!"
       "I... I did not wish to see her tonight, that is all. I had thought of doing so, but I met Claude on the street, and the opportunity of speaking in more private conversation with this fascinating priest was---"
       He grins suddenly, a bright and terrifying smile. "You forgot! Oh you staggering fool of a mortal, you forgot!"
       "I did not forget!" I scream at him, my eyes flashing. I am no longer on the divan, I do not remember rising but I stand now before his chair, my muscles trembling with rage. "I had wanted to see her and I was on my way but---"
       "...but?"
       I collapse to my knees, my head slumping downward, and my voice catches in my throat. "I... I could not remember where I was to meet her. Meres!" I look up at him with sudden terror in my eyes. I hate to reveal such weakness before him but I cannot contain it longer. "Meres, I could not remember!"
       His eyes shift suddenly, from the coldness of derision into curiosity. I would almost say there was a touch of compassion there--- but no, it is merely interest in my story. "...you could not remember?"
       "No! I... I tried, I was on my way to see her, I know what time she was to arrive but... but there is an emptiness. I believe I can recall the very conversation we had, what she was wearing, the sound of her voice, the scent of her perfume, but... but there is nothing in my mind where the words should be." My voice begins trailing off, its desperation lost in my confusion. "Meres, I... this has never happened to me. What is happening to me?"
       He leans forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his long legs. "Adir... I had no idea, do forgive me for being so rude to you." He brushes a hand almost tenderly against my cheek, and I remember a time, so long ago, when we were not so dismissive of each other... oh, we have all been together too long! All relationships are soured by time, for we grow tired of seeing the same faces day by day... Meres, I used to have such a fondness for you. There was a time... but that is gone, we are in time and what has passed does not return. There is no return for us...
       I shake my head tiredly. "It does not matter... we have slighted each other a thousand times, what is once more? But Meres... what has happened?"
       He sighs, long and heavily, and I hear all the depths of his sorrow in that slow exhalation. "Adir, dearest, I do not know... but you are not the first, and I hardly doubt the last. There are so many things we have lost..."
       There is a long silence between us. Vaguely, I notice the sound of distant low voices and hushed gasps - seemingly from downstairs. I am relieved, for we should like some time to ourselves just now, so lost in reflection. So much time has passed, time which slips from us as sand in a glass, only without the certainty of containment, so much of the sand has fallen away, blown aside or dropped or crumbled into the dust of mortality, there is so much we shall never find again...
       “I have been searching,” Meres begins, his voice low and distant. “Veri has grown so poorly in these last years, and... well, others have deep troubles as well. We all suffer more and more by the day, and have less power to relieve the suffering. There are holes in other memories, apart from yours.”
       I sigh, shaking my head tiredly as I sink back in the divan. “What do you hope to find, Meres? All have looked, for centuries now... nothing has helped, never for long.”
       I do not speak of Azal, but I can hear the thought clearly in both of our minds. Nor do I speak of the others, those whose names have fallen from our thoughts, as they fell away from our company, one by one, dropping behind as the endless years...
       “Oh, I know. And I hardly hope for any lasting balm, in these late years. But this priest, he has studied the old texts, those the church has now rejected. If only there is some small thing, some hint that has left us, any tiny hope...” He spreads his hands in a helpless gesture. “I do not even dare mention it to Veri – not, of course, that he has allowed me to speak with him in weeks.” He sighs heavily at this, a look of pain behind his eyes. “But even then – though it could only be some small thing, I do not think he could bear it. To have something so tantalizingly near, and then torn mocking away.. He has grown so weak, you know, so weak... I am truly afraid for him, some days, I... oh do not tell him, do not tell anyone! I fear not their cold mockery, I am used to that. I fear only that there are some among us who should hope too much that I might have something, and... and I do not wish to think what might happen, were such hope, small as it might be, were then destroyed. We have suffered so much and for so long...”
       “Of course, dear, of course... you have no idea how terrified I was, that I had forgotten some little thing this evening. It was a thing of no consequence, excuses are so easy to come by, but the very fact of having forgotten, oh Meres, I was so afraid! But you have reassured me – there must be so many little things that have fallen aside by now. Things forgotten that we have even forgotten we ever forgot!” We laugh, forcing a lightness back into our voices, and I can almost believe the reassurance of my own words.
       He smiles, almost tenderly, and cups my cheek in his hand, which is cold but gentle. “...and one could almost think that we were not entirely cursed after all. For there is yet beauty in the world.”
       I laugh dryly, shaking my head – but I let his hand remain against my skin, for there is a comfort in the simple gesture, and a sweetness of memory from centuries ago. “Oh, but cursed we are, for I am certain that even this hope shall be taken from us... yet for the moment, the idea of it is a soothing balm.”
       He kisses my forehead lightly, and moves his hand to run once lightly over my hair. "All that is real is the moment, my dear, anything beyond it is memory or imagination. We are in time now, we are held in its crushing embrace. There is no reality beyond this moment, so its relief is an eternal one."
       I cannot hold back a soft chuckle. "You have been going through the man's notes, you are borrowing from his sermons."
       He laughs and sits back, leaning against the chair and taking a long, slow breath. "Ah, you have caught me! Such a blind view, is it not? I find it terribly hard to believe that even he believes it, however can he if he holds a belief in the saintly life to come? Oh how far these creatures of dust stray, their thoughts lost in labyrinths of their own construction..."
       "He has not minded you rifling through his things?"
       "Oh, not at all, he has paid me no mind in the least. To keep him distracted, I led him into a tangled path to pursue, some nonsense about the incantations we are supposed to have used when we taught them the summoning arts long ago. Complete rubbish, of course, the words have been lost for a millenia at least, the languages dead and gone. I doubt if even Azal has thought it worth the trouble of keeping them in mind, though he had the most hand in creating them."
       I do not answer this, as I am not at all certain he is correct. For I have heard Azal muttering things in a low voice, when he believed himself to be alone, and I once caught a young boy, some child flitting about someone's garden as a young butterfly, chanting in a sing-song voice jumbled words in a language he could never have been taught. Someone remembers the words; not all has been entirely lost.
       "In any event, it does seem those two have found some means of occupying themselves down below," he finishes, with a sly chuckle. "I suppose it is not nearly so delicious a sight as we might hope for, but I have faith in the boy's abilities, the priest shall have come along quite nicely before a month is out, I believe."
       I laugh lightly in response, only because it is expected. I care little now for this petty drama, everyone seems to have forgotten that it is hardly the first time we have carried such a lovely coup.
       At last, there is a sound of footsteps on the stair, slow and cautious. Claude is the first to look in, his hair tousled, a gleam in his eye. "Sorry to have kept you waiting, dears, but I presume you found some entertainment of your own?"
       Meres makes a show of being quite annoyed - it seems he has taken the boy under his wing to some degree, training him to be... oh, not that he could ever be as one of us! But to be a little more like us, that he will annoy us less, I think. "Really, it is quite rude to leave guests so long unattended. Whatever took you so long? I do hope the wine at least will be worth the long wait."
       "My apologies, gentlemen, but we had some lengthy discussion in the kitchen, and quite forgot ourselves for a time," Mark answers diplomatically, entering the room with a tray of glasses and two bottles of wine, along with a small plate of cheese and pastries. Really, I am quite impressed with the apparent quality - but, there, it is a wealthy parish, and I should hardly think his visitors would be fed on the bread and water of Christ. "Mere symbolism," they would say, with gruff certainty. "Of course the Son of God did not eat such simple fare! Why, wasn't the first thing he did make himself some wine?" Oh what pathetic little fools, you are such an obtuse lot. It grows so hard to find ones we do not weary of... even I, with my constant searching, grow tired so soon, with very few exceptions.
       Sadie! Oh Sadie, my dear one, do forgive me this night! If only I knew where you were, I should have gone to you, but I am bound up by my own excuses now, and cannot go to look for you... Meres may show a face of compassion but I know full well what lies beneath it, if I left now he should laugh and spread the word to all of my weakness.
       By the time my thoughts have returned to the room about me, the wine has been poured, and glasses passed. The tray is set on a low table within easy reach of us all, with Mark sitting in a more comfortable chair than the one at his desk, and Claude - oh I can never seem to find a word for his manner of sitting besides perching! Even when still, he seems to flit about so quickly, I do not know if it is his eyes or his passionate gesticulations. But the boy comes to rest on a surprisingly plush footstool, remaining ever near Mark, really bringing nothing more clearly to my mind than a moth to a flame. A dangerous liaison, but an irresistible one all the same.
       The wine is passable, nothing to take especial note of but far better than I had expected. Light conversation begins, about the food and the wine, and drifting to other things of no consequence. I have little attention for it, but I find myself still unable to leave, for... I do not know where to go. I am terrified of another lapse, terrified of losing more, and I dare not go far from the support of one of my own. Meres may have no answers, but at least... at least he knows the trouble, and there is comfort in that camaraderie. Sadie, do find me, I do not know where to find you...
       I steal a helpless glance at Meres – but all his attention is focused upon the priest. He drops his gaze into his glass of wine a moment, then turns it back to Mark with fresh intensity.
       Though I spoke to Meres as if my concerns had been laid to rest, content in the knowledge that he searches for a balm, I find myself unable to focus on my surroundings. The others chatter on and on about Claude's painting, about the politics in the church, and more about some artist I know nothing about... Of course I invent opinions and comment appropriately – my time among such as Rebecca has made me quite adept at holding conversations without paying them any real attention.
       Sadie... you must find me for I have no hope of finding you... Have you already returned? Are you waiting for me, in that unguessable place, composing a thousand excuses for me in your thoughts? ---No, no, it is not so late as that, you will still be on the train... what time is it now? What time was I to meet you?
       Another sip of wine, another meaningless laugh at an unheard joke. A glance exchanged with Claude – the boy is slightly drunk, or perhaps it is only the proximity to his forbidden lover. Oh, that love which goes beyond the mere act, that love which binds souls unbidden, which chains the heart to a time and a place... a place, oh, a place with no name! I wish to leave this room, I ave no use for it, whyever did I even come? My curiosity is sated. This company will be of no help to me this night, for it will not resolve my trouble, nor be engaging enough to distract me from it.
       But I might go to the club - there are still some hours left to the night. And in the morning, I shall go to the nearest of Sadie's apartments--- no, I shall go now! If she is not there yet, certainly I will learn of the servants or neighbors where she is. Whyever did I not simply do so in the first place? Really I don't know what got into me earlier, it must have been the rush of fresh air after the close, perfumed quarters of Rebecca's house... oh, the afternoon feels an age ago and more! What a brute Time truly is...
       I have now entirely neglected Claude's fumbling conversation - what do I care for the chatter of some boy? I finish my wine, and rise to go - the motion feels pleasantly blurred, the numbing quality of the alcohol lying comfortably in my veins.
       "Are you going, Adrian?" Claude asks, a note of bewilderment in his voice.
       "Adir?"
       "Oh! My apologies, I... my thoughts were elsewhere. But yes, I am going, I am long overdue for an appointment. Was lovely to meet you more personally, Mark."
       He smiles and extends his hand, but I have turned already to Meres. "Meres, dear, do let me know the results of that inquiry we discussed, for I am most curious."
       A faint smile shows on his tired face, and he nods in agreement. "Certainly, darling. I shall see you soon."
       "I shall show myself out - do have a pleasant evening," I say in farewell, though my thoughts have gone from this place long ago.

       I am already a block or two away when I find I have left my jacket behind. It is of no consequence, for the chill of the night will have little affect upon me. And I will soon be with Sadie, and her touch will warm this icy flesh which binds my soul. Ah, woman, your charms are unending! Through all your petty grievances and airy slights, there is an ineffable grace to your every motion, and eyes which are backlit by a kindling compassion. Ah, my Sadie, you are the loveliest of women, your hair so long and shining with a thousand shades of flame, your eyes which... ah, such eyes They seem to see all that I am, though I know they cannot, they seem to forgive all, though I know they could not. Your body so smooth and gracious, your every motion fluid and certain, your every touch of such brilliance that all this dull world falls away from me...
       Ah, Sadie, you are as that first woman was to me... never since those countless years ago have the pleasures felt so bright and new. Oh Sadie, there are those who believe in souls reborn, to visit again this earth, and darling you nearly bring me to believe it, so near you are to her... she, whose name left my mind a millenia ago, but her blood must have continued into you...
       ...but oh, if it did, you should be my child! My own daughter, after so many years... Perhaps that is why I am so bound to you, perhaps there truly is something of that other realm in you, as there is in me, though, oh, you shall never know the glory of the wings which ought to be your birthright! Oh my Sadie, I shall be with you soon, so soon, forgive me my neglect for I shall make it up to you, oh my darling that I could grant you wings as those I once had! Sadie Sadie I must find you! My emotion again consumes me and Sadie you are the only one who can hold it all, can embrace me that closely, Sadie, Sadie I must find you!