Aidan plopped limply onto the bed with a heartfelt sigh. The sun was setting outside of his room in the Dragon Queen’s tower, and ordinarily he would be feeling energized by the oncoming night, but recent events had left him wrung out enough to sleep the night away and the following day too. I feel my age, he thought, and then some. He glanced at the mirror that hung over the fireplace, which reflected an empty room back at him. Though I probably don’t look it, he added wryly to himself. If I were still on Earth, I’d get carded at all the clubs.

“What are you thinking so deeply about?”

He turned his head, not bothering to get up off the bed at the sound of a familiar alto voice. “Pondering my age. There are times when I feel old and worn out.”

Flame Song stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. “You don’t have any claim on old age, youngster,” she said with a smile. “You’re still barely half as old as I am, after all.”

Aidan laughed at that. “True, true.” He sat up and scooted over on the bed to make room. “Have a seat.”

Flame Song sat down next to him and put her arm around his waist. He yawned and leaned his head on her shoulder.

“How are the kids?” asked Aidan.

“They’re fine. They still remember who we are, thankfully. I’m very glad that we retired from the adventuring business. I know that what the Queen's Own does is very important, but I don’t like being away from them.” She shook her head, sending a strand her wavy, flaming-red hair in front of Aidan’s nose. He brushed it away absently.

“I know what you mean. But at least this was a once only. It’s not every day that our skills are badly needed enough that Tara would call us back from retirement. And now all is well and we can go home. I want to leave first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Staying on a daylight schedule?” asked Flame.

“Since we’re traveling most of the way with that caravan, I figure we ought to. We can switch back to nights once we get home.”

They had been forced to change their travel habits since having the twins. There was simply no way to make the trip on foot or by air with three children, the oldest of whom had only just molted into her first set of real flight feathers. So they'd made arrangements to travel with a trade caravan. It was slow, but safe, and also much less tiring.

Aidan yawned again and Flame Song found herself echoing it. “Well, in that case we ought to get some sleep,” she said.

“I’ll second that motion,” said Aidan. He got up off of the bed and went to change for bed. Flame Song followed his example and soon they were snuggled together in bed. He absently tugged at the torc around his neck, which had gotten askew and was digging into his throat.

Flame Song reached over and touched the torc, asking sleepily, “Isn’t that uncomfortable?”

“It used to drive me crazy, but I’ve been wearing it long enough I’m used to it by now.” It had been ten years since Aidan had stolen the iron torc. In all that time he had only removed it once, and then only for the briefest possible instant. Knowing what he knew now, he wasn't going to be removing it again.

Flame’s hand moved from the dark collar to his soft white wings, and she stroked the feathers absently. He let out a long sigh and went still, dropping into a deep, dreamless sleep of exhaustion. Flame Song soon followed him, though unlike her unbreathing vampiric husband she snored softly.

Aidan awoke slightly before dawn. He yawned and rolled over to look at his wife. He found her looking back, a sleepy smile on her face. “Good morning,” she said.

“Morning,” he replied with another yawn. They got up and got ready for the coming day’s journey. Aidan got dressed, choosing an outfit in his usual dark blue and finishing by draping his sun medallion, with its red stone that matched the one in his torc, around his neck. He ran his fingers along the chain in a nervous habit, making sure the links were solid. Ever since Branson Alder had torn it off he'd been a little bit nervous about it. It protected him yes, but it was also a point of vulnerability.

He looked at Flame Song, now dressed in a practical outfit of muted greens. She gave her reflection a glance in the mirror. Aidan came up behind her, though the mirror still showed her alone in the room. “You’re looking wonderful as ever today,” he said.

“Thanks.” She turned around and smiled at him. “Your torc is crooked though,” she added, reaching out and adjusting it so the stone rested in the center.

“The kids should be up by now,” said Aidan. “Let’s go get them and hit the road.”

They tidied up and left the room, headed downstairs for the nursery. When they swung open the door they were greeted by the sound of young children at play. A shrieking little brown-haired girl dashed by with a giant white-furred kitten in hot pursuit. “Firedart!” said Flame, recognizing the cat as their three-year-old son.

He skidded to a halt. “Hiya mom!”

“Where is your brother?” asked Flame.

“He’s no fun, he’s over there.” Firedart raised one paw and pointed across the big room to his twin.

A second young feline, this one marked by orange and yellow wings, was sitting near one corner talking with a girl of about twelve or thirteen who was the oldest child in the room. The pair recognized Hope, their friend Brianna’s little girl. They scanned the room, looking for their oldest child, six-year-old Littlespark. She was helping a group of younger children build a block city. Without need for consultation, the pair split, Flame going to where Phoenixflare was talking to Hope while Aidan went to retrieve Littlespark.

“Hey, Fuzz-ball,” Aidan called out to her, “time for us to go.”

“Aw,” said Littlespark, getting to her feet. All three children were shapeshifters, and Littlespark, as she usually did when among other children, had taken human form. She was cute as a button with fair skin dusted with freckles, intensely green eyes, and shoulder-length white hair that was just starting to turn orange.

“Poor kid,” said Aidan with a grin. “But I was thinking that while we're on the road I should start giving you flying lessons, how does that sound?”

“Cool!” replied Littlespark. “Let’s go!”

They got the children herded out of the nursery and headed out of the tower. They had already said their goodbyes the day before, so now they were ready to depart. The caravan had stayed the night in the nearby town, and was now setting out past the Tower, headed north to Porttown. From there they would catch a ship to Snowcap and make the rest of the trip to their home on foot.

Aidan and Flame found the wagon driver who’d agreed to let them hitch a ride and were about to go when a liveried servant hurried out of the tower.

“Mr. Rhiannon!”

Aidan turned around. “What?”

“A letter for you. It came last night.” The servant jogged over to Aidan, holding a square of white paper. Aidan took it and thanked the man. He walked back to the wagon, looking at the letter with puzzlement. It was addressed to him all right, with a return address in Aerievale, of all places. Who did he know in Aerievale? As the wagon set off with a creak he walked beside it and opened the letter. Flame was sitting in the back of the wagon with the three kids by her side.

Dear Aidan,
I don’t know if this’ll get to you, but I heard a rumor that you’re part of the Queen's Own, so I’m sending it to the Queen’s tower and hoping it’s true. If it is, you’ve sure gone up in the world! I always knew you’d amount to something. If you can spare a minute from saving the world, would you come and see me?
Your old friend,
Thomas.

Aidan felt a sudden flash of guilt. He really should have tried to see his old friend again. He'd been down south several times since that first disastrous trip. But there had always been something else going on...

“What is it?” asked Flame.

“A letter from Thomas,” he answered. “He says he heard I was in the Queen's Own and he wants to see me.”

“Are you going to go? You’re within a day or two of Aerievale right now.”

“I know,” he said. “I’m thinking of it. Would you be able to manage the children without me?”

“Of course!” said Flame. “Though I’ll miss you.”

“Are you going away Daddy?” asked Littlespark.

“I think so, love,” was his response.

“You promised me a flying lesson!”

Aidan grinned. “Well so I did! I’ll give you one then, before I leave.” He looked around the terrain that was slowly going past. The caravan moved at a leisurely pace. The main benefit of traveling with it was safety, not speed. Up ahead an outcropping of rocks rose above the rolling hills. “There,” said Aidan, pointing. “Once we get closer we’ll go to those rocks so we can start from a high point.” He would need a little extra altitude to get airborne with his daughter. She was only six, but tall for her age, and the extra weight would make a big difference.

“Yippee!”

He strolled along, keeping pace with the wagon easily as it rolled slowly forward. It seemed to take forever before the wagon was at last abreast of the rock outcropping. “Come on, fuzz-ball, let’s go,” said Aidan. He boosted Littlespark down out of the wagon and they ran to the stones. Littlespark climbed up first, with Aidan following to give her a boost when needed. Soon they were standing twenty feet or so above the ground. The wind ruffled Aidan’s black hair, and sent Littlespark’s orange and white locks whipping around her face. A kind of blurring came over the little girl, and when it cleared instead of a human child, a half cat, half aerian girl stood there. She looked similar to her human form, with white hair starting to turn orange in streaks. She was covered in a fine coat of white fur with fire-orange stripes starting to show faintly. Her features were distinctly feline, but her green eyes were unchanged. From her back a pair of white-feathered wings sprouted. Aidan put his arms around her from behind, getting a good grip, and said, “I’m going to take off from here and get us some real altitude. Then I’ll let go. You just spread your wings and glide. It’s easy. Ready?”

She nodded, so he spread his own white wings and jumped off of the rocks. He dipped down for a moment before he got up enough speed to start gaining altitude. Then he swooped upward. It was easy to find a rising thermal over the summer fields and despite the extra weight he managed to circle higher until the caravan below was only a string of dots, like ants. “All right,” he said in Littlespark’s ear. “I’m going to let go now.”

“I’m scared,” she said. “We’re so far up!”

“All the more time for me to catch you in. If anything goes wrong, I’ll be right here. I won’t let you fall, I promise. You ready?” When Littlespark nodded wordlessly, he let go. She gave an excited shriek and for a moment she tumbled through the sky, but then her wings came open and her fall slowed. She stopped tumbling and pulled up in a smooth glide. Aidan came up next to her and gave her a thumbs-up. “See! I knew you could do it! Come on, let’s catch up with the caravan!” He banked sideways, adjusting his course to follow the road that twisted below. Littlespark followed his example, though she turned too far at first and had to correct herself. Soon the pair was soaring over the tiny string of wagons below. Aidan dipped downwards and waved at Flame Song. Littlespark followed, gleefully buzzing the wagons. Aidan had a bad moment when he thought she might have gone too low, but she pulled up easily. She was already mastering her ability to fly. He laughed and shouted, “You’re doing great!”

They flew until Littlespark began to tire. Her wing muscles were unused to the activity. Her landing was a bit clumsy, but she made it down just fine. Aidan set down next to her and they ran to the wagons. Littlespark climbed up, saying excitedly, “Did you see that?”

Flame Song hugged her and assured her that yes, she had in fact seen her flight. Then she turned her emerald gaze to her husband. “Are you going now?”

He shrugged and said, “I might as well. I’ll spend a couple of days in Aerievale and then try and catch up. If all goes well, I’ll probably reach you by the time you dock at Snowcap.”

Flame Song jumped down off of the wagon and gave him a hug. He hugged her back, suddenly wondering if he should go. There was a faint uneasiness in the back of his mind. He didn’t want to be away from his family, but it was more than that. He couldn’t pin it down, it was just a vague something. Still, Thomas had been an elderly aerian when Aidan had first known him, and if he didn’t go see his friend soon, he might never have the chance. Reluctantly he stepped back. The wagon had continued on down the road. Flame turned and jogged after it. When she reached it, she climbed in with the children. All four of them waved at him. He waved back. Then he spread his wings and launched himself skyward. Without Littlespark’s extra weight he had no trouble getting off the ground. He circled the wagon once, waving again and then he turned his course southward.

He was still a long way from Aerievale when the sun set that night. His tiredness dragged at him, he still hadn’t recovered fully from his recent adventure, so he made camp for the night. He remembered his last attempt to visit Thomas. He wondered for a moment how Shauna was doing.

He awoke reluctantly some hours after sunrise. His internal clock enabled him to awaken as reliably as if he’d set an alarm. He could have slept longer, but he wanted to reach Aerievale that day. He could see the mountains rising ahead of him to the east. Their tops were dusted with snow, their flanks green with forest. He took to the sky, headed for the towering peaks, the highest in Tara.

As he flew he kept an eye on the land below. He wanted to feed before he reached Aerievale. He didn’t know how his old friend felt about vampires, but arriving hungry and in need of a meal wouldn’t help things. Soon he left the cultivated fields and began to fly over the forest the covered the foothills. The wood that passed below him was thick and untamed. Few roads crossed it, and few indeed were the people who lived in the depths of it. Aidan passed over a wide meadow surrounded by towering trees and saw what he was looking for. A herd of deer grazed peacefully below. Since deer have no natural airborne predators, they never even looked up when his shadow passed over the herd. A moment later he’d dropped out of the sky next to a fat doe. With reflexes faster than human he grabbed her around the neck before she even knew he was there. She struggled silently for only a moment before he bent to her neck and his sharp fangs cut through her skin to reach the blood that flowed beneath.

The heady rush of it filled him with a flush of warmth and energy that was like nothing he’d known during his breathing life. It was a kind of high, but there was no following low, no crash. It was like the endorphin rush of battle, only there was no tension and no fear. It left him feeling revitalized like nothing else could.

When his hunger was sated he released the doe. She staggered a bit in shock. Then she bounded off after the rest of the herd, which had fled when Aidan landed in the middle of them. Sometimes he thought it was ironic. The humanoid races of Aretha and the humans of Earth feared vampires and regarded them as monsters, and yet he left the animals he fed upon alive, while they killed to get their dinners. He didn't scorn them for doing so, he knew that kill to live was the natural order. He hadn’t been a vegetarian before becoming a vampire either, and his own wife was a predator by nature. But he was very glad that he didn’t have to kill. Even the life of a deer was a life, and taking life wasn’t something he did easily.

That thought brought back memories, both good and bad. He was headed now toward the place where he had first killed a man. And he was headed also to see the man who had helped him begin to turn his life around.

A frightened teenager, white wings grimy from living on the street, runs down a dim alley. He is small; one might mistake him for a child of twelve or thirteen, though he is some four years older than that. He is thin too, almost to the point of emaciation. He clutches a small bundle to his chest as he runs. Overhead crisscrossed clotheslines and leaning buildings whose upper stories are larger than their lower levels make taking to the sky impossible. He is panicked, desperate. He has to get out now! Behind him a heavy tread echoes off of the cobblestones. His pursuer is gaining.

The boy’s breath becomes ragged. He has to get out! He has to escape! But as he rounds a corner in the still unfamiliar city he finds he is trapped. He looks above, but escape by air is still impossible. He spins around to face the entrance to the alleyway. Perhaps he still has time to backtrack and escape… but no, a dark shape blots out the dim moonlight at the end of the alley. The pursuing man is also an aerian, but his build is sturdy, and he tops the scrawny teenager by more than a foot. He offers no words, but simply smiles as he advances. The boy cowers back. He is terrified, but now that he has nowhere to run he finds a kind of desperate courage welling up in him. His cowered posture allows him to draw a long dagger and palm it in his left hand, the blade lying hidden along his arm. It’s a simple trick, but one the man might not expect from the terrified boy.

The man doesn't even bother to draw his own knife. He doesn't feel he needs it to administer what he regards as justice. "I'll beat you to a bloody pulp, thief," he says harshly.

The boy swings his fisted left hand. That’s another tiny advantage; few people are accustomed to fighting someone who is left-handed. The man begins to laugh, for it seems that the boy’s punch has not even connected, passing harmlessly just in inch from the man’s abdomen. He suddenly stops laughing, his eyes going wide in horror, for the boy had never intended for his hand to connect, it was the hidden dagger he was swinging, almost invisible in the darkness. He had tilted his hand so that the dagger’s sharp blade cut across the man’s stomach. The man clutches at the wound. He has been gutted, and only his fingers, covered now in his own blood, are keeping his intestines from spilling out.

The boy stares in horrified fascination at what he has done. The man, his eyes still wide in an almost comical expression of surprise, drops to his knees and then falls forward on his face. He lies still in a widening pool of blood that looks black as ink in the moonlight. The boy stares a little longer. His expression gradually hardens. He has done what he must do to survive in this place. Well, so be it. He has already become a thief, now he is a killer too.

The sun was setting by the time Aidan reached city. The spires of Aerievale’s high towers caught the last of the sun, as did the snow-topped peak that towered over the high valley that cupped the city. Aidan didn’t head for the sparkle of the sun on white marble, however. His destination lay on the lower slopes. The city spilled in a disorganized jumble down the mountain. Up near the top were palaces and mansions, and below them the more modest dwellings of the middle class, but the lower slopes were covered in a warren of falling-down houses, dilapidated shops, ugly warehouses and who knows what else that made up the poorer quarter, and it was there that Aidan’s friend Thomas lived.

He was not the only one in the sky that evening. Though many other races lived there, Aerievale was the homeland of the aerian people, and there were still a few of them out at that late hour, most no doubt heading for their homes, or else out for a little entertainment on a fine, clear evening.

Aidan’s eyes scanned the ground below. Here over the poor quarter there were fewer people airborne and more making their way below on two feet. Many of Aerievale’s non-aerians were among the poor. Aidan found old reflexes taking over, and he kept a wary eye on the few that shared the airspace over the poor quarter with him. Life down there was hard, and many of those who lived there became hardened in response. He had seen it happening to himself. Not all of the inhabitants of this area were dangerous, but it was best to be careful. The light faded further, sliding up the mountain above until the last trace of sun vanished. Thankfully, Aidan’s night-sensitive eyes could see through the gathering twilight well enough to guide him. He found many landmarks had changed, but enough remained for him to find his way to a certain familiar-looking roof. When he landed in the street in front of the tiny cottage he smiled, knowing he was at the right place. The house looked out of place on the little street, for where all of its neighbors were run-down and falling apart, this one was in perfect repair, freshly painted and with flowers growing in the tiny yard in front.

He stood there in front of it, remembering.

An old aerian man, hands wrinkled but still strong, grabs the boy by the collar. The boy is older now, and more than a year of hard experience has written itself on his face, but he is still small and thin. His starved body is clothed in little more than rags, and his fair skin is marked with dark bruises. He struggles to break free, but the man’s grip is strong. The boy reaches for his dagger. He has not killed since that first time, but he would not hesitate to take a life to save his own, and he knows that another trip to the jails of Aerievale might well result in his execution. The jailers know him, and they know also that they cannot keep him locked in their cells. They have little sympathy for such as he, and execution is easier and cheaper than getting better locks.

Before he can even get his hand on the knife, the old man has taken it from his belt. The man’s movement is fast, and the boy is startled. This man isn’t the easy mark that he seems.

“Here now, lad,” says the man’s surprisingly gentle voice. “There’s no need for violence. I’ll not let you take my purse, but I’ll not be turning you over to the constables either. I’ve yet to seen a time in prison cure a boy of thieving. Now,” he continues, “I’ll let you go, and you can run off to wherever it is you live, but if you’ll give me a bit of trust and stay, I’ll be more than happy to give you a square meal. I don’t like to see a lad like yourself looking so scrawny. You look like you haven’t had a good meal in years.” The man releases his grip on the boy’s collar, and the boy turns to run, but something holds him back.

He looks at the old man suspiciously and says, “Why would you offer to feed me after I tried to rob you?”

“Well lad, maybe it makes me a fool, but I like to think there’s good in everyone, and I do what I can to help the goodness I find. That there’s good in you I don’t doubt, and if you had a few square meals you might not have to resort to robbing helpless old men.”

The old man smiles at his own little joke, and the boy finds himself smiling back. This old man may be a little bit crazy, but a good meal isn’t something to be passed up, and somehow the boy knows the old man is being honest. He nods cautiously and says, “I’d like a good meal.” Then he adds, “But don’t think I owe you anything because of it! I make my own way.”

“And that’s as it should be,” says the man. “You can’t depend on anybody else to do things for you, lad. But there’s no harm in taking help when it’s offered, and no dishonor in it either. Come along then,” he adds, and the boy obediently follows him down the street.

Aidan shook the memories off and stepped forward to knock on the brightly painted green door. The windows glowed with light, so he knew that somebody was home. Sure enough a moment later the door swung open, spilling golden light out into the street. Aidan squinted at the brightness, but it was only a moment before his sensitive eyes adjusted enough to see the man who stood there. The aerian in the doorway looked older than he had last time Aidan had seen him, but he was still in good health. His shoulders were perhaps a bit more stooped, his skin more deeply lined, his wings a little bit moth-eaten, and his hair was definitely thinner, but there was no question that it was Thomas.

Thomas leaned forward, peering at Aidan with an expression of surprise and disbelief. His eyes were wide as he said softly, “Aidan? Aidan, is that really you?”

Aidan smiled. “Yes, it’s really me. I got your letter and came right away.”

“Letter?” Thomas looked puzzled. “What letter?”

Aidan pulled the folded square of white paper out of his pocket and handed it over, puzzled by his friend’s surprise. Was he old enough that he was forgetting things? Thomas took the letter and opened it, his eyes scanning over the words.

“Aidan lad, I’m very glad you came, but I didn’t write this. It isn’t even anything like my handwriting.”

Aidan blinked in surprise. The uneasy something surged up in his gut. What was going on? “If you didn’t write it, who did?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” said Thomas. Then he collected himself and added, “But let’s not discuss it standing on the street, come in, come in, I’ll make a cup of hot chocolate for you like you always used to like.” Aidan had been a little startled, when he first came to this world, to find that chocolate was commonly available. Somewhere in the far south it grew abundantly, and was traded to the north regularly. It was somewhat expensive, a luxury, but it was within the means of someone like Thomas, if only just. But that hardly mattered to him now.

Aidan stepped into the little house, finding it as cozy as ever. Things haven’t changed here, he thought, but I’ve changed. He felt suddenly awkward. How was he going to tell Thomas everything that had happened to him? “Thomas,” he called out as the old man headed for the kitchen, “I don’t drink hot chocolate anymore, so don’t bother making a cup for me.”

Thomas turned around. “You don’t? Why ever not?”

"I... It's kind of a long story."

Thomas gave Aidan a curious look, no doubt wondering what kind of tale could result in his young friend forsaking his favorite drink, but he didn’t ask to hear the story, he just came back into the front room and seated himself in his favorite chair. Aidan sprawled on the couch where he always used to sit, suddenly feeling tired.

“Well since we’re skipping the chocolate, let’s talk. I haven’t seen you in so long, I thought you were dead! It warms my heart to know you’re still alive, and doing very well from the looks of you.” Thomas grinned. His grin faded a bit as he surveyed Aidan from head to toe, but then he shrugged as if dismissing whatever thought had occurred to him. “You’re still too scrawny, but at least you’re not half-starved anymore. But you must tell me all about what’s happened to you. I think we’ve got a lot of catching up to do! Though things haven’t changed here any,” he added wryly.

Indeed they haven’t, thought Aidan. He was suddenly overwhelmed by all the memories. He’d had so many conversations here. They’d talked of everything, the older man imparting his hard-won wisdom to the younger, who often ignored it, but never forgot it. From that very first day when Thomas had lured him in with the promise of a good dinner he’d begun learning a different kind of lesson than the ones he learned on the street.

The boy perches on the edge of his chair as if he will take flight at any moment. The closed door that stands between him and the street is making him nervous, but the smells of cooking wafting from the kitchen are making his mouth water, so he stays. It’s been several years since he could count on regular meals.

“The stew needs to simmer a bit longer before it’ll be fit to eat lad, so while we wait, let’s have a little chat. I have to admit you’ve got my curiosity going. I’m very careful about my purse, but you came pretty close to getting it. Why are you so starved if you’re that good of a thief?”

The boy is reluctant to talk about his thieving, but the man doesn’t seem to be angry that the boy tried to take his money, so he ventures a cautious agreement. “I am a good thief, one of the best.”

“Then why aren’t you eating boy? Are you addicted to something, is that it?”

“No!” the boy’s answer is vehement. He remembers days that seem long ago, an almost forgotten time when he had parents and went to schools on another world. He learned then the folly of taking drugs. “I’m no druggie, but…” he hesitates to share the real reason for his hunger. Showing weakness isn’t safe on the streets, and yet he finds himself trusting against all experience. “I’m too small. You can’t live alone out there. You’d get killed while you slept. You need to have a good place, and other people so you can take turns watching. But I’m always the smallest one. So the gang I stay with, the big ones end up with most of what I take, no matter what I do. That’s why I started taking small stuff, like your purse, instead of going up the hill after the good stuff. I can spend a few coppers right off and get something to eat. But if I don’t steal enough good stuff they’ll throw me out. I’m not a good enough fighter to do anything about it, but I’m learning. And I am the best thief in Aerievale,” he adds, somewhat proudly.

“I don’t doubt that, lad. But where will that get you? When you’re my age, are you going to have anything? Or will you have been caught and executed by then? Now I’m not trying to lecture you lad, you can just ignore me if you like, but you might want to at least think about that a little bit.”

The boy’s expression darkens. He doesn’t like the advice, maybe because it hits too close to home. He can’t help but think of the jailers who already know his name. How much longer before he gets caught by somebody who isn’t as nice as this man?

The old man asks another question. “You don’t talk like a street urchin, lad. And your accent isn’t from here. Have you had some education? Do you read and write?”

The boy grins. “I can more than read and write. I’ve probably read more books than you’ve ever seen. You’re right I’m not from here. I'm an outworlder. On the world I came from I got a very good education before I ended up here. I know using correct grammar makes me stand out a bit, but I just can’t bring myself to butcher the language like the street kids do.”

"An outworlder..." The old aerian's initial reaction is skepticism. Everyone in Tara knows about the Tower and the Portal, their own queen came through it long ago and it is a part of the history and legend of the land. But legends and small thieving boys do not seem to go together.

The boy bristles. "I am!"

The aerian makes a placating gesture. "I don't doubt you lad. I just have never met one before. You hear about them in the legends, but they're not exactly thick on the ground."

The boy sighs. "I'm not part of any legend. I thought maybe I might have been, when I first came here. But I don't belong in the Queen's court. I thought I'd belong here, with other aerians. I guess I do, but only with the criminals."

The old man smiles wryly. “When the bards tell the legendary tales of heroes, they always leave out the real story. You only hear the momentous struggle, the triumphant victory. You never get all the difficult, boring, real life parts that make the big ending possible. Who knows, maybe your story will someday be one of those great stories. But they’ll skip over this part saying, ‘The hero had a humble beginning as a thief,’ and get right on to the more exciting bits. And nobody will ever say how you got beat up by some other thief who never amounted to anything, or how you got caught once by an old man.” The old man smiles, and the boy smiles back.

“So,” said Thomas, interrupting Aidan’s thoughts, “was the phony letter telling the truth about you being in the Queen's Own?"

Aidan smiled, though he didn’t show his teeth. He knew the subject of his vampirism was bound to come up eventually, but he didn’t want to rush the moment. “Indeed it was, though that wasn’t exactly my idea when I first joined up. I got dragooned into it by a beautiful woman.”

Thomas laughed. “And what became of her then? Did she drag you in and then abandon you?”

“Far from it,” said Aidan. “She actually married me.”

“Congratulations!” said Thomas with a wide grin. “How long ago was the wedding, and why wasn’t I invited?”

Aidan felt guilty all over again. “I’m sorry I didn’t invite you. It actually happened rather suddenly. We’ve been married nine years now.”

“Nine years! Have you got any little ones ‘round the house then?” asked Thomas.

Aidan nodded, finding it hard not to grin like an idiot. “Yes indeed. A beautiful little girl and two twin boys.”

Thomas smiled broadly. “Congratulations again! I’m afraid I’ve got one more burning question for you though.” He raised his eyebrows quizzically, a habit he’d had back when Aidan had first known him. “You're nine years married, it's been ten years since I last saw you, and you must be near thirty by now. So why do you still look just like you’re not even twenty?”

Aidan sighed, not knowing exactly how to explain, and not really wanting to. Maybe Thomas would be able to accept his vampirism, but then again maybe not. But he didn't even know where to start. At last he said, “It’s probably easier to show you than to tell you. Do you have a mirror handy?”

Puzzled but willing to go along with the strange request Thomas got up. He disappeared into his bedroom and emerged a moment later with a small hand mirror. “I don’t know what you want it for, but here it is. Will this do?”

“Sure,” said Aidan. “Just look at the couch in the mirror and you’ll see.”

Thomas returned to his chair and angled the mirror to show the couch where Aidan sat. His puzzlement deepened as he saw the reflection of the couch but couldn’t find Aidan in it. He adjusted the mirror a few more times, then glanced from it to where Aidan sat, clearly visible on the couch but completely invisible in the glass.

“You’ve a peculiar lack of reflection lad,” he said at last, “and I’m wondering if the reason for it is what I’m thinking it is.” He put down the mirror and looked at Aidan, waiting for confirmation.

Aidan looked at his folded hands. He didn’t want to see the rejection he feared to see in his friend’s face. “Probably. I only know of one sort of person who doesn’t have a reflection.”

“Ah my poor lad. You’ve had a rough enough life without something like that being laid on you as well,” said Thomas, and his voice was as kind and as friendly as ever when he said it.

Aidan looked up and a slow smile spread over his features. Thomas hadn’t reacted with fear, or loathing, or any of the negative reactions his nature often provoked. “Actually, it has its good points,” he said. “I’d probably be dead by now for one thing. The part that bothers me the most is how everyone automatically assumes I’m some kind of monster.”

“And you were worried I would too, weren’t you lad?” Thomas shook his head. “I’ve never met a vampire up close before, but you’re still the same good person I used to know, I can tell. I know I have nothing to fear from you.”

“The same good person you used to know? I was a no-good scrawny thief back then, and I wouldn’t have classified myself as a good person.”

“There’s a difference between a good person and a person who does good things, my friend,” said Thomas. “You may have been a thief and a ruffian, but even then you were a good person underneath it all. I always knew it was only a matter of time until it started to show through. Time and a little bit of help.”

“And you helped a lot, my friend.”

“I would like to think so,” said Thomas, “but when I last saw you, you hadn’t exactly changed your ways.” Aidan smiled and shrugged his shoulders in response. Thomas had indeed begun to turn his life around, but curing him of his kleptomaniac tendencies had been more than the old aerian could do. It had taken his wife years to gradually wean him away from thieving, and even now he still loved it when the chance came to legitimately employ his talents. “I remember getting that letter,” said Thomas. You said, ‘Got myself into trouble again, but don’t worry, somebody bailed me out. Can’t make it back to Aerievale, but I thought you might want to know I was still alive.’ I read that thing so many times I think I wore it to bits. I always hoped you’d turn up again someday, but when you didn’t, I thought maybe you had died after all.”

“No, I didn’t die,” said Aidan with a grin. “Or at least I didn’t die just then. But a lot of interesting things started happening.”

“So what was it that turned you around? I’ll venture a guess,” said Thomas with a sudden smile. “I would bet it was this wife of yours.”

“You’d have won that wager,” replied Aidan. “She turned my life around and then some. Let me tell you…”

They talked for a long time, sharing stories, reminiscing about the past, and in general just enjoying one another’s company. At last however Thomas said, “You may be a young thing, and a real night owl to boot, but I’m not as young as I used to be, and I need all the beauty sleep I can get. We’re going to have to finish this in the morning. Or,” he added suddenly remembering, “I suppose it will have to wait until after dark, won’t it?”

“Not necessarily,” said Aidan. “Knowing Tara has a few fringe benefits, and one of them is that if you’re a vampire you can get sun protection. I’ve actually been on a daylight schedule the last month or two, and it won’t hurt me any to keep it up while I’m here. I’ll go find an inn that’s open at this hour and get a room. I can be around again bright and early tomorrow morning.”

“Stay here,” offered Thomas. “I’ve got that spare room you used to sleep in. It needs a bit of tidying, I’m afraid, but you’re more than welcome to sleep here. And,” he added, “I’d enjoy the company. This old place is awfully quiet some nights.”

Aidan smiled. “Well, I don’t snore anymore, so I don’t know if I’ll help with the quiet problem, but I would love to stay here. Thank you.”

“You’re more than welcome. You know where the bed is.”

As Aidan lay on the little cot he thought about how far he’d come. He could remember when this tiny bed had felt like luxury. Yet compared to his home with Flame Song this little cottage was a hovel. He wondered if there was anything he could do to help Thomas. He knew his friend was very independent, but now that Aidan was well off financially he wanted to do something for him. Now there’s a reversal, he thought. Me helping him out! He drifted off to sleep surrounded by memories of other nights spent in that room.

The boy creeps cautiously down the street. He knows the lookout had already spotted him, and the rest of the gang will know he is coming. He is nervous. His hands are sweaty as they clutch a little bag close to his chest. This is the biggest haul he’s had in a long time, but he fears it will not be enough. He finds the hole in the wall, partially hidden by trash and rubble, that leads downward to one of the gang’s many hideaways. He slips through easily, his slight form sliding among shadows.

Below a guttering torch lights a dim chamber. They are waiting there for him. The leader, a tough young human, his face already scarred from countless fights, stands in the middle of the room, flanked by two of his cronies, a half-troll and another aerian. All three are larger and stronger than the boy though they are all about the same age. The leader speaks first. “What ‘ave ye brought in t’night, little mouse, little pretty boy?”

Wordlessly the boy offers the bag to the leader. The larger boy snatches it away and he and his cronies exclaim over its contents. “A good haul, pretty boy,” says the leader.

The boy gathers his courage and says, “It’s the last one.”

All three pairs of eyes fasten onto him. “What d’ ye mean, the last one?” says the leader, a dangerous tone in his voice.

“I’m leaving,” says the boy. “I’m not going to steal for you anymore.”

“And where’s a mouse like ye goin’ ta’ hole up?” says the leader. “We be the only ones as would want ye, mouse. Ye’d not survive a day out there by yerself.”

The boy remains silent. He has not mentioned the old man to any of these. They don’t know where he has been spending his days, and he isn’t going to enlighten them.

The leader scowls at the boy’s silence. “Yer not goin’ anywhere, mouse. Yer ta’ keep bringin’ in the good stuff fer yer mates.”

The boy shakes his head and says, “I’m going.” He turns to leave, hoping that if he shows no fear the other boys will let him go, but luck isn’t with him this night. A heavy blow hits him from behind, sending him sprawling. He gets his hands under him and twists around to see the leader standing over him. “Yer not goin’ anywhere,” repeats the larger boy, and kicks him in the stomach. The boy curls up, trying to protect himself as best he can while the three larger boys kick and hit him.

Eventually the leader and his cronies tire of beating the smaller boy. They leave, taking the torch with them. The boy lays still in the darkness for a long time before he carefully begins to move. This is the worst beating he’s had, and if he hadn’t already decided to leave, this would have made up his mind to go. He tries to get to his feet, but the pain is too great. So he crawls across the floor. One of his wings refuses to fold up against his side. It hurts with burning agony every time he moves and he fears it is broken. His side throbs as well with a sharp stabbing pain and he is sure he has at least one broken rib. The short distance across the room is eventually covered, and he crawls slowly up the sloping passageway to the street. When he at last reaches the top he stops for a long time. He is panting and every breath sends agony through his side. Now comes the hardest part. He cannot crawl down the street, the distance is too far, and he would look like easy prey to those hunters who wander the streets by night. He must get to his feet and walk.

He rests for a long time, getting his breath and hoping the pain will fade at least a little. It doesn’t, but at last he decides he is ready. He has to use the wall to get up, but he makes it to his feet. He begins to walk forward. He puts one foot in front of the other carefully, knowing that if he falls he will not be able to rise again. His left wing trails on the ground, and though he tries he cannot raise it. It hangs limply and now he is sure it is broken.

The trip is not a short one, and at the slow pace he must take the night is nearly gone when at last he reaches the little cottage. He knocks on the green-painted door and waits, leaning on the doorframe. When the door finally opens, the old man looks at him in shocked surprise. “Oh lad, what have they done to you?” The boy does not reply. He is at the end of his strength, and now that he has reached the only safety he knows, he stops struggling against the darkness and falls forward, unconscious.

When he wakes he is lying on a little cot in the old man’s house, and his friend is sitting on a stool next to him, cleaning blood off of his face with a damp cloth. The boy still hurts, but he feels safe now. He is free of the gang, and his friend will take care of him.

“You’re awake lad! Good. I’ve sent for a healer, but he hasn’t come yet. I’ve done what I can, but your wing is broken, and I think you’ve a few broken ribs as well, and there’s naught I can do about that. What did you do to get in such a shape?”

“I left the gang,” says the boy, “and I’m not going back.”

The old man smiles. “Well lad, I’m sorry you had to pay such a price to leave, but I’m glad you’re free of that lot. You’re better off without them. You can stay with me as long as you like.”

“Thank you,” says the boy simply, and his expression conveys the depth of his gratitude.

Aidan awoke with the sun shining in on him through the window. His internal sun sense told him it was almost noon. He sat up with a yawn. He could hear Thomas puttering in the kitchen, and smell something cooking. He wrinkled his nose at the scent. He knew Thomas was an excellent cook, but it didn’t smell at all appetizing.

He wandered out into the front room, still barefoot. Thomas poked his head out of the kitchen and said, “Good morning!” cheerfully. “I’d offer you breakfast, but I don’t think I have anything to your taste.”

Aidan grinned. “Probably not. Don’t worry about it, I’ll be fine for another day or two.”

“Do you miss ordinary food?” asked Thomas, curious. “Feel free to tell me to jump in a lake if that’s too personal a question.”

Aidan shrugged. “I don’t mind talking about it. Every now and then I miss sitting down to dinner with a friend and having a good conversation over the meal, but I don’t really miss to food itself. Frankly, I’m sure whatever you’re cooking is delicious, but to me it smells horrible.”

“I’m having a late breakfast, eggs and sausage. I slept in after being up so late last night.” He looked at his friend and said, “If you don’t mind another question, do you breathe at all? I looked in on you a bit earlier and you were so still I wondered how I would know if you’d died in your sleep.”

“I only breathe when I need to talk,” he said. Then he added with a grin, “Let me tell you that weirded my wife out at first. She kept waking me up just to make sure I was alive.”

Thomas grinned. “I’d wager she would find that strange.”

“Speaking of breathing,” said Aidan, “do I smell something burning?”

“My breakfast!” Thomas hurried into the kitchen. He emerged a moment later saying, “The eggs are a complete loss, I’ll have to cook up another pair, but I saved the sausages!”

Aidan yawned. He always felt groggy during daylight, even if he’d had plenty of rest. “Well, don’t let me keep you from enjoying them,” he said. He sprawled across the couch while Thomas went back into the tiny kitchen and finished cooking another pair of eggs.

The old aerian returned to the front room with a loaded plate. He set it down on a low table by his chair. As he ate he gestured with his fork and said, “You know I’ve been thinking. Glad as I am to see you lad, that letter smells mighty fishy. Somebody wanted you here, and it wasn’t me. Nothing has happened as yet, but were I you I’d keep my eyes open for trouble. Do you know anybody that might have it in for you?”

Aidan pondered. Then he shook his head. “There's a vampire lord who's been having a few conflicts with the Queen's Own in recent years. But I don't think it's him. He wouldn’t waste an elaborate plot on me; he’d be going after Brianna, or Tara, or one of the other active members. And there's a demon... but he can't do anything to me, so I don't know what good luring me here would do him. I can't think of anybody else.”

Thomas went a little bit wide-eyed at that. Aidan spoke of vampire lords and demons as if they were everyday things. He shook himself mentally. “Well, whoever it is, they’re patient. They haven’t made a move yet. How long are you going to stay?”

“I’d like to stay a good long time, but I don't want to be away from my family. I'll probably stay two or three days though.”

“You’ll have to visit again and bring your family along. I’d like to meet this wife of yours, and see your kids.”

“Maybe I will. You’re the closest thing to a grandfather they have.” He looked at his friend and smiled, adding, “You’re the closest thing to a father I have too, you know.”

Thomas looked up at him with a touch of surprise. He smiled. “Ah lad, I couldn’t ask for better thanks than that. I’ve always thought of you as a son.” He blinked, and Aidan saw moisture gather in his eyes.

Aidan just smiled.

He stayed three more days with his old friend, but at last it was time to go. They said somewhat teary farewells, and Aidan promised to come visit again as soon as he could.

“And if there’s ever anything I can do for you,” he added, “anything at all, don’t hesitate to let me know. You can get in touch with me by mailing the Queen’s tower, or by sending a letter to Coppertop.”

Then Aidan waved one last goodbye and took to the sky. It was time to go home. He looked down on his friend’s figure, growing tiny below as he gained altitude. His mind went back again to the last time he saw that diminishing view. Then he was on the run, fearing for his life. Now he was going home to his family, but now as then he hoped that he would be able to return.

The boy hangs upside down from the roof so he can peer into the window. Something interesting is going on in there, and he wants to get a look at whatever it is. He isn’t really a boy anymore, not long ago his eighteenth birthday passed, uncelebrated, but he still looks far younger than his age, and he hasn’t grown much taller. He has, however, been eating regularly, and his body, though still slender, no longer has the look of starvation. His clothes are ragged, but they are clean as is his person. His eyes are bright with curiosity as he looks at the upside down scene inside the room.

An aerian man stands in the center of a cluttered workroom. His dress marks him as a mage, though even if he were not wearing mage’s robes, the glowing power that surrounds him would still identify him as a magic user. The young man watches in fascination. He had been around magic for several years now, but it still amazes him.

He wonders if there is some magical ward or protection on this house, but nothing happened when he landed on the roof, so he doesn’t worry too much. Even in a city where most of the population flies, it is amazing how many people don’t ever think to guard their rooftops. Or perhaps this mage does and is simply too absorbed in his spell-casting to notice any magical alarms. His face has an expression of intense concentration as he manipulates the power that swirls visibly around him.

Too soon for the young man’s liking the show is over. The glow of magic fades and the robed aerian leaves the room, moving with the slow, heavy movements of complete exhaustion. The young man sticks around for a while, still curious. He sees something lying on the table the mage has been working over. It is a moment’s work to get the window open and cautiously enter. He is wary, knowing alarms may have sounded when he entered, but when nothing happens he creeps slowly across the room. He reaches the table and looks at the object on it. It is a torc, a collar of back iron set with a large red stone. His fingers brush it and he feels a strange tingling. He picks it up, feeling the metal warm in his hands.

A large mirror stands against one wall, and as the young man sees his reflection in it, he is seized by a sudden impulse. He puts the collar around his neck, hearing the catch close with a soft click. He tilts his head, liking the look of it in his reflection. A moment later he is out the window again, and the table lies empty behind him.

He is still in the air in his way back to the old man’s house where he now lives, when something emerges out of the air in front of him, literally out of nowhere. He gives a started yelp and backwings to avoid running into the thing. It is made of shifting shadows, visible more as a blank space amid the starry sky than as a real object. Two slits that are probably eyes glow red. The thing speaks and the alien sound of its voice sends shivers down the boy's spine. “You have something I want boy, give it to me.”

The young man bristles and sideslips, diving down below the thing. “Make me!” he says, guessing the thing is talking about his recently acquired torc. The thing follows, reaches out with shadowy tentacles, and for a moment fear shows on the boy's face, but the tentacles pass through him as though he isn't there. It hisses at him. "It can't protect you from everything, boy." Then it vanishes.

The young man circles in the air for a moment, trying to figure out what just happened. He wonders if he should get rid of the collar, but when he goes to take it off, he can’t find the catch. He panics for a moment. He’s stuck with the thing and the creature might come back and try to take it at any time. He calms himself with a reminder that panic will only make him make stupid mistakes. He continues on his way home, thinking hard all the while. The torc is magical, that much he knows, but what exactly is it? Part of its power is obviously protective; it kept the thing from touching him. What else might it do?

He is at the door with his hand on the latch when a hand falls on his shoulder. He jumps and turns around to find an inhumanly handsome man standing there in the darkness. The young man looks at this intruder with suspicion. “What do you want?”

“I want something you have, boy, something that isn’t yours. Give it to me and there will be no trouble.” The young man looks closer at him, and notices that the other man’s eyes are red. Is he that thing, or another like it in disguise?

The young man is stubborn, and he shakes his head. “Why should I?” he says.

The man smiles genially and says, “Because you cannot use it, and I can. And because if you do not, things will be very unpleasant for you. Do you know what it is you have stolen?” When the young man doesn’t reply, the handsome, human-looking man continues. “I will tell you something of what that is. It is a talisman that protects the wearer from certain kinds of harm, specifically from harm by demons. The problem is that the demons want it very badly. So as long as you wear it you will be hounded by demonic forces. I would wager you’ve been bothered by at least one demon already. You will never be free of them so long as you wear that bauble. Give it to me, I can take proper care of it, and you will have no more worries.” He smiles again.

The young man’s suspicion hasn’t gone away. He gives the handsome man a glare and says, “I don’t think so. I think you’re a demon. And that means you can’t hurt me.”

The man’s genial expression vanishes. “Not directly, but there are still ways. Give it to me or I will make your life most unpleasant.”

“No.”

“Very well.” The man’s eyes begin to glow. He reaches out and attempts to grab the boy. With reflexes honed by a hard life on the street the young man escapes the best way he can think of, straight up. His leap gets him just enough height to get his wings open and working, and soon he is gaining altitude fast. He looks down at the little house growing ever smaller below him and hopes he’ll survive to see it again.

He sees the demon below suddenly vanish, and then he nearly slams into the too-handsome man who appears out of thin air right in front of him. Suddenly there are other demons, inky blots with red eyes, in the air all around him as he started to tumble from the sky. “You’ll live to wish you’d given me the torc, boy,” says the man. "My magic can't touch you, but I can." He grabs the boy's arm in a firm grip, and an instant later man, demons, and boy have all vanished.

Aidan gained altitude swiftly, circling over the city on a warm updraft before he headed east for the high pass that lead to the far side of the mountains. Below him the road that snaked up from the city and wound through the pass was mostly empty. A single wagon toiled up the slope, tiny oxen that looked like toys straining in the traces.

Aidan didn’t bother trying for extra altitude over the pass. He was high enough to be safely clear of the ground, that was all that mattered. And that may well have saved his life when an arrow came flying out of nowhere and knocked him out of the sky. He never saw the archer, and he didn’t notice the arrow speeding toward him either, but he certainly felt it when it slammed into his chest. It struck him through the heart, not instantly fatal, but a painful, paralyzing shock that sent him tumbling from the sky.

He landed hard on the stony ground of the pass. His chest was on fire with white-hot pain. He tried to move, to pull the arrow out, but he couldn’t. The sun overhead glared down at him, pinning him in place, a relentlessly bright reminder that he was vulnerable. During daylight he couldn’t heal, and should whoever shot him come down and remove the amulet that protected him from the sun he would certainly die. Even with the amulet on, if nobody came along to pull out the arrow he would still die, unable to heal with the wooden length sticking through him.

He expected to hear footsteps, to hear the unknown person who had lured him here and shot him come to finish him off, but there was nothing, only the sound of the wind blowing through the pass. He lay for a long time, he didn't know how long but it seemed like an eternity, before at last a sound dimly penetrated his pain-clouded mind. It was a creaking sound, and it was gradually getting louder. The wagon, he thought, remembering the toiling oxen on the road below. Soon the creaking of the wagon grew louder and he could tell it was very close. He tried to open his eyes, to move, to give some sign that he was alive, but he couldn’t. The wagon stopped anyway, and he could hear voices.

“Look over there! Is he dead?”

Feet thudded to the ground by the wagon as somebody jumped out. Footsteps came closer, the light tread of somebody small. Aidan heard a gasp of surprise and then a female voice calling out, “Brandon, come here, quick!”

A second, heavier set of feet followed the first and Aidan struggled again to open his eyes. He failed again, held helplessly paralyzed by wood and sunlight.

“A dead aerian,” said deep male voice said. “Wonder who killed him and why?”

“He’s not dead,” said the first voice. “At least I don’t think so, though with him it’s hard to tell.”

“What, you know this guy?”

“His name is Aidan,” said the first voice, and Aidan would have blinked in surprise if he could have. Who was this woman, and how did she know him?

“Well, I hate to burst your bubble, but he is definitely dead, look.” Aidan felt a hand on his wrist as the man felt for a pulse. “See, no pulse, not breathing, an arrow right through him, he’s dead.”

“Look, I don’t want to argue with you, I just want you to help me carry him back to the wagon. We can discuss how dead he is once we’re on the move again, all right?”

“All right,” said the man dubiously. Aidan felt himself being picked up. The man grunted a bit at his weight, but Aidan was lightly built, and the other man had no trouble lifting him. The motion jarred the arrow, and Aidan let out a low, involuntary moan of pain. The man gave a jolt of surprise at the sound.

The woman’s voice said, “See, I told you, he’s still alive.”

“I believe you. But how can he be alive if he isn’t breathing?”

“I’ll explain in a moment. Let’s get him into the wagon first.”

Aidan was carried a few yards and then set down on a hard surface. He moaned again. The pain in his chest was spreading through his whole body. The wagon rocked and creaked as the other two got in again. The man’s voice encouraged the oxen forward and the wagon started moving again. Aidan felt a hesitant touch on his chest. “I think I ought to pull the arrow out,” said the woman’s voice, “but I’m not sure.” Yes, take it out. Aidan tried to say it aloud, but he couldn't.

“You’re the one that seems to know all about this dead-but-not-dead guy,” started the man. Then he stopped and said, “Wait a minute, is he some kind of undead zombie or something?”

“No, he’s a vampire. Surely you remember my telling you about the good vampire I met a few years back?” Aidan suddenly had a clue about how this woman knew who he was. She would be older now, and her voice had changed, but it could be…

“Vampires,” said the man. “I never thought I’d see the day when you’d be rescuing vampires, Shauna. But as I was saying, you know more about him than I do. If you want to take the arrow out, go ahead.”

Aidan’s suspicions were confirmed with the name. His rescuer was Shauna, the would-be vampire slayer that had caught him some five years ago. But before he had time to think about what that might mean, he felt a tugging at his chest. The fiery pain flared up as Shauna got a grip on the arrow and pulled. It was too much for him, and as the arrow ripped its way out he descended into dark unconsciousness.

He came awake slowly; somewhat surprised that he was still alive. His internal sundial told him that the sun had been down for several hours. He opened his eyes and assessed his surroundings. He was lying in a comfortable bed with the covers tucked in around him. The room looked cozy, with a fire flickering in the fireplace and an oil lamp shedding a warm glow. Somewhat gingerly he sat up. His chest had been bandaged, and the pain there was nothing but a faint ache. The wound would probably be almost healed already. When he threw back the covers he was rather embarrassed to see that he’d been stripped down to his underclothes. He looked around the room in search of his trousers, but didn’t see them anywhere.

He stood up, feeling dizzy and weak. He swayed and had to clutch at a nearby chair to keep from falling over. Hunger made itself felt in his stomach. He had lost a lot of blood and his body was informing him he ought to replace it. Just then the door swung open. Aidan looked up to see Shauna come into the room. He recognized her easily enough, but she had changed since he had last seen her. Five years ago she had been hardly more than a girl, but now she was definitely a woman. She wore a loose dress of pale blue fabric that complimented her fair hair, which was still pulled back in a sensible ponytail, and brought out the blue of her blue-gray eyes. It also flattered her slender feminine figure. Aidan found himself blushing, acutely aware of his unclad state.

She smiled at him and said, “You’re up! Good. When you didn’t wake up at sundown I started to worry.”

“I needed some time to heal a bit, I guess. Thanks for rescuing me.” He was embarrassed and unsure of what to say. Shauna was looking at him with an intensity that unnerved him. “Um,” he added after an uncomfortable pause, “Where are my pants?”

“Oh,” she blinked and said, “They’re out in the front room drying. I had to wash them off; there was blood on them. I’ll go get them for you,” she added.

She went back out of the room and Aidan sat down on the bed to wait for her return. He almost wanted to climb back in and preserve what was let of his modesty, but since Shauna was no doubt the one who had undressed him in the first place, he decided there wasn’t really any point. She came back a moment later carrying his folded trousers. “I’m afraid your shirt was a complete loss,” she said as she walked across the room. Aidan got up and reached for his pants. She came close, too close, as she handed them to him. He was suddenly very aware of the sound of her heartbeat, the rush of blood under her tanned skin, the scent of her permeating the room. His hunger clawed its way up from his stomach and into his brain. He realized her was staring at her in a kind of tunnel vision as the rest of the room faded away.

She was staring back too. He had a brief flashback, remembering five years ago in the dim light of a lantern. He had been hungry then too, but he’d been tied to the wall and unable to do anything about it. That same look had been in the eyes of the then teenage girl when she’d kissed him. And now history was repeating itself, for Shauna moved closer, the folded trousers dropping forgotten from her hand, and kissed him deeply.

Aidan was torn, knowing he should break it off as he had before, but unable to muster the self-control to do it. He was fighting a double battle against sheer blood hunger and illicit passion. Shauna’s arms went around him, her heartbeat thundering in his ears. Then she pulled back and looked at him. Her blue-gray eyes were exactly level with his. He broke off from her intense stare and his eyes fell on her neck. He could see the pulse throbbing beneath her skin and at last it was too much for him.

He bent his head to her neck and his sharp eyeteeth broke through the skin to reach the blood beneath. Shauna let out a soft cry of surprise and pain, then she went completely still, her breath coming fast, her heart pounding. As Aidan took her blood into him, he could feel the touch of her mind, the blood-bond that came from such an exchange forming an emotional link between them.

Her mind was strong, and her emotions ran deep. She was an independent woman who knew what she wanted, and right now what she wanted was him. Her feelings rushed over him like a flood. There was a faint shock at what he had just done, but it was already fading as the initial pain of his bite faded. There was concern for his well being too, but the overriding emotion was an intense physical attraction. She had been fascinated by him when they had first met, and the feeling had not faded with time. The heat of her desire washed over him, sparking an answering desire in his body, if not his mind. The pleasure of taking her blood into him was undeniable. He realized what was happening, and fought it, trying to pull away, but his hunger was not sated, and it demanded that he stay. The link ran both ways, and she could sense his feelings as well. The confusion in his mind baffled her, but she could also feel the pleasure he felt, though he fought it, and her own desire blazed higher in response.

He was caught in a feedback loop of rising heat, and at last he gave in to it. His teeth drove deeper into her neck, he drank freely of the flowing redness of her life, and as her arms tightened around him, his own arms came up around her, his fingers finding the buttons on the back of her dress.

It was a long time before he came down to earth, came back to himself, and started thinking again instead of just feeling. His first thought wasn’t a happy one. What have I done? He didn’t just come down from the high of lovemaking; he crashed down hard into a low of depression.

Shauna looked at him sleepily, a puzzled expression crossing her features. “Aidan, what’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “I’ve just ruined my life, that’s what’s wrong. Why…” He hardy knew what question to ask. “Why did this have to happen? Why did you have to kiss me?”

She stiffened. “It wasn’t entirely my idea, you know,” she said in a dangerous tone of voice. “I didn’t force myself on you.”

He stopped short, realizing that trying to blame Shauna wouldn’t do him any good. “I know,” he said. “Sorry. I just…” he sighed, trying to think of what to say, how to explain himself. And what was he going to say to Flame Song when he went home? “My wife,” he said, “she…” he stopped again, looking for the right words.

“She doesn’t need to know,” said Shauna, “and what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

Aidan shook his head. “I can’t keep something like this from her! She knows me too well. I… I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“Well sitting here feeing sorry for yourself isn’t going to help you any,” said Shauna sharply. “You…” whatever she was going to say was cut off by the sound of a chime from somewhere else in the house. “Bother, what now?” she said, and slid out of the bed, throwing on a robe.

Aidan buried his face in his hands and wallowed in depression. Why couldn’t he have kept control of himself? And why did have to have this cursed hunger that took control of him? If he’d still been a breathing man this never would have happened. The sound of voices raised in anger dimly penetrated his consciousness, and for something to do other than lay there being miserable he got up and got dressed, or at least as dressed as he could get with no shirt and no sign of his boots either, and padded barefoot to the door. His keen hearing could make out what they were saying long before he reached the front room where the argument originated.

"I'm telling you again that you have no business here. Go away!"

"I am not going until I can speak with the vampire!"

"Well you can sit on my front step until you rot then!" said Shauna sharply.

"I think not. You could have done this the easy way, but I will come in."

Aidan didn’t wait any longer, he threw open the door and walked into the room. Shauna was staring determinedly up at a well-built half-elven man. He had one hand raised threateningly, but she didn’t look threatened. They both turned to look at Aidan when he came in. "Well, here I am. What do you have to say to me?" Shauna saw something in his eyes and stepped back, letting Aidan take her place in the doorway.

"I bear a message from my master, vampire. He promised that you would never have peace. He keeps his promises."

Aidan heard the phrase "never have peace" with a kind of shock. "And who is your master?" he asked, knowing the answer already.

"Asmodeus, who will soon be Lord of Hell," said the man, and his eyes lit up as he said it.

"He can't touch me," said Aidan. "His threats are empty."

The man laughed. "Are they? Have you known peace these last six years?"

Aidan eyes the man. He hadn't had peace, no, but none of the things that had happened to him had anything to do with demons.

The man laughed louder. "You haven't, and my master has been the cause. He it was who whispered to the vampire Marco and sent him to release you, to get you to take innocent blood and damn yourself. He whispered also in Branson Alder's ear and sent him to kill you if he could, or to be killed by you. And he sent me today to shoot you from the sky and bring you here, into the path of temptation." His eyes nearly glowed with gloating pleasure. Aidan just stood in shock. "And I see the marks on this girl, you have given in to it, haven't you? You've damned yourself. You might as well simply give him what he wants, and die a true death, and go to your place in Hell."

At that last Aidan's shock flashed over into white-hot rage. The man was echoing what Aidan himself had been thinking only moments before. But now he could turn the whirl of guilt and undirected anger that filled him at a target. He lunged forward, took the man by the throat, and lifted him bodily off the ground. The man let out a strangled sound of surprise and grabbed at his hands, tried to pry him loose, but Aidan was far stronger. He spun the man around and slammed him into the nearest wall. Then he did it again, and again a third time. Then he lifted the man higher and literally threw him out the door. His fangs were bared in a savage snarl. "I should just kill you," he said, his voice almost unrecognizable with anger. "But I'll leave you alive so you can tell your master this. He will never get what he wants. And if he doesn't forget he ever heard of it and go back to Hell, maybe I'll send him there myself, permanently! Demons can die a true death too."

The man lay where he'd landed, looking stunned. Aidan thought for a moment that he might have killed the half-elf after all, and he didn't really care. But the man groaned and slowly picked himself up. Aidan had the urge to go out and kick him a few times, for good measure, but instead he shut the door and then leaned against it, the anger draining out of him as quickly as it had come.

Shauna looked a little startled at his ferocity. "What was that all about?"

"An old enemy of mine. I thought he'd given up and left me alone, but it seems not." He sighed deeply, feeling incredibly weary. “I’m sorry Shauna. Sorry about that thug, sorry about tonight, I’m just sorry.”

“Well I’m not.” She looked at him, and her eyes softened. “I know you feel bad about what happened, and, well, I wish you weren’t so hurt by it. A lot of guys, they don’t think anything of that sort of thing. So long as nobody knows, it’s just fine. I guess your family matters more to you than that. I’m sorry if you and your wife split up over this, but if she deserves you at all she’ll love you enough to forgive you, that’s what I think. I didn’t know how much this would upset you. But I’d still do it again the same way if I had it to do over.”

Aidan sighed again. “I wouldn’t. It’s…” he looked for the right words again. “It’s not you, it’s just… Flame Song means everything to me, and I don’t know what I’ll do without her.”

“You could come here,” said Shauna. “But I don’t think you will.” She shook her head. Then she swayed slightly.

Aidan looked at her, his eyes going to the two little red marks on her neck. He’d taken a lot more blood that he usually did with Flame Song. “Are you all right?” he asked.

She found a nearby chair and sat down. She put her hand to her head. “Just a little bit dizzy.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again.

“You apologize too much.”

“I…”

“Hush, I’ll be fine. Dizziness isn’t the end of the world. I’m a little bit light-headed, that’s all.”

“I took more from you than I should have. I…”

She held up a hand. “If you’re going to say ‘I’m sorry’ again, don’t. I know you did, but I will be just fine. I’m not in any danger of dying on the spot. I’m a tough girl. Don’t worry about me.”

Aidan looked down at the floor, studying his bare feet for a while. When he looked up at last, he said, “I think I should go now.”

Shauna nodded. “You’ll probably want your boots then. And your belt and daggers.”

“Yes.”

She got up and went to get them, glaring at Aidan when he moved as if to help her up. She came back and handed over belt, daggers, and boots. “I’m sorry about your shirt.”

He shrugged. “I’ll survive. The cold doesn’t bother me.” He buckled on the belt and slipped the boots onto his feet. Then without a word he turned and opened the door to go. Her voice, sounding suddenly soft and small stopped him.

“Aidan,” she said, and he turned around, tension written in his face. What more could she have to say?

“Aidan… do you hate me?”

He sighed and some of the tension went out of him. “No, I don’t hate you. You didn’t mean for this to come out the way it did. I… I wish you well. But,” he added softly, “I don’t think I’ll ever come back here again.”

“Goodbye then.”

“Goodbye.” He stepped out the door and without waiting he leaped skyward, his wings catching the gentle night breeze and carrying him upward.

His thoughts were darker than the night sky as he flew. The stars lit the sky, but what light or hope did he have? It was tempting to blame everything on Asmodeus, if the demon really had engineered his encounter with Shauna. But even if the demon had put him in the path of temptation, he was the one who had given in to it. He'd resisted such before. He'd been hurt at least that badly by Branson's stake, and he hadn't just jumped on whoever was nearest. He'd had the option of breaking off, but he hadn't taken it. He had indeed damned himself.

The days it took Aidan to travel from Shauna’s little village to his home in the far north were the worst days of his life. Worse than being held prisoner by demons, worse than being staked by Branson, worse even that that dreadful moment when his daughter had been kidnapped. Because through all those things Flame Song had been there to help him, to stand by his side, and now he was going to lose her forever.

He found himself replaying that evening over and over, plotting out an endless series of might-have-beens in his mind. But even worse than that was when he imagined what lay ahead. He would return home and Flame Song would know something was wrong. She would ask him and he would tell her. He couldn’t lie to her, even if he tried she would see through it, she would know. So he would tell her the whole story, and when she heard it, she would look at him with pain in her eyes, and then she would turn away and tell him to go. And he would go. He would leave her forever, and after that nothing else would matter.

He wouldn’t go back to Shauna. Perhaps he might return to Aerievale and live with Thomas again. Maybe he would die in a gutter in Aerievale as he nearly had as a boy. It made no difference. Without Flame Song, death was as good as life, better even, for if he were dead he wouldn’t feel the pain of loss. He thought for a time about simply killing himself before he reached home. It would be a simple matter, just make sure he was in direct sunlight and take his amulet off. Flame Song would never know of his betrayal. But no, that was the coward’s way out. He had to face her, to tell her. After that perhaps he would end things, but she deserved to know the truth.

He didn’t hurry, but eventually he reached his destination. His family had already passed through Snowcap when he had landed there, so he continued on until he reached the low hill that covered their underground home. A thin wisp of smoke trailed up into the sky from the hidden chimney. The entry passage to the front door was a dark square in the hillside. He stared for a long time before he finally walked slowly forward and entered the tunnel. He felt old, tired, and heavy. The earth above him seemed to press him down, and his heart felt like it had turned to lead and was lying in his stomach. He felt as though he was lifting a heavy weight to raise his hand to the latch and open the door.

Light flooded over him, accompanied by the sounds of home. Firedart’s voice was raised in a childish tantrum, and Littlespark was singing loudly, trying to drown him out. Flame Song’s rich bardic alto was soothing the boy, talking him down out of whatever crisis he was having. Aidan felt his heart breaking all over again. This might be the last time he heard the ordinary noises of his family. Flame Song looked up at the sound of the door opening and her eyes lit up.

“Aidan,” she said, and the tone of her voice was loving and welcoming. He felt the shards of his broken heart ripping him to pieces inside at the sound of it. She stood up to greet him, and immediately noticed his utter dejection and heartbreak, not to mention his lack of a shirt. “Aidan, what happened?”

He opened his mouth to tell her, and he couldn’t. The words just wouldn’t come out. Firedart stopped his tantrum and looked at his father. Phoenixflare, his brother, was sitting quietly before the fire, and he too, turned his amber eyes on Aidan. Littlespark also fell silent, and looked at him. Aidan felt all their eyes on him like a weight. Again he tried to speak, and couldn’t. Flame Song realized something was very wrong and, turning to Littlespark she said, “Spark, can you keep an eye on your brothers for me? Your father and I need to talk.”

“Yeah Mom,” said Littlespark.

Flame Song came over to Aidan and gently took his hand. She led him into the bedroom and firmly shut the door. Aidan numbly sat down on the bed. Flame sat next to him and took his hand in hers. He flinched at the soft touch.

“Aidan, what is it? What happened to you?”

“I…” again he could not find the words.

“Did something happen during your visit with your friend?” she asked, trying to get him talking.

At last he found something he could say. “No. Everything went fine with Thomas.”

“Then something happened afterward?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me about it,” she said. “Just start when you left Aerievale and tell me what happened.”

Yes, he could do that. He began to speak, telling the story slowly, haltingly. He stared down at the polished wood floor, his eyes never meeting hers. His voice was flat and he felt a kind of numbness coming over him, dulling the pain. He described how he’d been shot, and how Shauna had rescued him. Then he reached the point of his awakening in her house and his voice faltered. “I… I don’t know how to say what… I… she… I had lost so much blood, I was so hungry, and she was too close. I… I took from her, and…” he stopped again. He simply could not say it.

Flame Song said softly, “Was taking her blood all that you did?”

He closed his eyes and said in a whisper of anguish, “No.”

“I see.” Flame Song’s own voice went flat as she tried to hold in the sudden hurt. Aidan looked up slowly and the broken-hearted look in her eyes was a hundred times worse than he had imagined. He dropped his eyes before he could see her turning away from him in rejection. There was a long uncomfortable silence, neither one able to think of anything to say.

“I… I’ll go get my things together and leave,” Aidan said at last, rising and taking a step toward the door. He felt a horrible emptiness creeping over him. Flame Song was so much a part of his heart, without her there was nothing to feel. His body had died on the long ago night when he had become a vampire, but now his soul was dying too and there remained nothing left to live for.

“Please,” her voice stopped him. He could hear the heartbreak in it. “Please Aidan, don’t go.” Aidan turned around and looked at Flame Song. He felt an ache in his chest as if his long-stilled heart was trying to beat again. The expression on her face mirrored the ache that he felt, and tears gathered in her eyes as her heartfelt words poured out. “I won’t say this doesn’t hurt, you would know I was lying. It hurts. It hurts more than anything I’ve ever felt. But I just can’t, I can’t. I make a joke of it, we both do, that I can’t live without you, but it’s nothing more than the truth. Please, if you go what reason do I have for living? I…” she hesitated and the tears began to flow down her cheeks. “I told you a long time ago that I can only give my heart once, and I’ve given it to you. You have it to break if you want to. You could… you could be with someone else a hundred times and my heart would still be yours. Please, I can’t stop you from going if you want to but…”

“Flame Song,” Aidan said her name gently, softly, with heartbreak and hope mingled in his voice. “I won’t go. If you had wanted me to go I would have gone, and what happened to me after that I didn’t care, but if you will take me, I don’t want to leave. I love you. I’ve been weak and a fool, but I don’t want to leave you. I can’t live without you either.” Tears were streaming down his own face as he said, “I’m so sorry, can you ever forgive me?”

She threw her arms around him and he held her close, wrapping his wings around them both in a cocoon of white feathers, and it was a very, very long time before either of them let go.

It was several weeks before Aidan could bear to bring up the subject of his trip again, but he had to, because he had to tell Flame about the demon's servant, and what he had said.

He still had a hard time believing it, but she seemed to have truly forgiven him completely. The mention of Shauna sent a flicker of sadness through her eyes, but she sat next to him and put her arm around him as he spoke, and her smile for him was as warm as ever. When he finished, she said, "I'm not sure if we can believe this or not. But... it at least shows that Asmodeus is following you around, if at a distance, that he knows about those things. And if he has caused those problems..." she went silent.

He sighed. "It means we can't trust anyone. He could be influencing anybody we meet."

Flame shook her head. "Not necessarily. Think about who he's influenced. An evil vampire, a crazed and also evil man, and his own follower. If he really wanted to get at us, why not influence Belak, or Corinne?"

Aidan blinked. "That's a good question."

"Maybe he can't influence people who don't give him the opportunity. If he can only influence those who are already evil..."

Aidan nodded. "It still means that we can't trust strangers though."

She sighed. "Yes. I guess we can be very glad that I chose to make my home so far from settled lands. If we lived in Snowcap, or on one of the southern cities..." She shook her head. "As it is he's had only those three chances to reach you. And he's failed every time."

Aidan looked at her, and his eyes were dark with pain and sorrow. "Not that last time..."

Flame hugged him closer. "Yes, he did fail. That man said you'd damned yourself, but it's not damnation if you're forgiven and you move on, is it? Let it go, Aidan. It hurt us both, but it's in the past."

He leaned against her. "You're a better person than I am, Flame. I'm not sure I can let it go. You may have forgiven me, but it's hard for me to forgive myself. But I'll try."

Time passed. They made fewer trips to Coppertop and Snowcap, and were more wary when they did, but there was no further sign of the demon. Months slid by and if Aidan wasn't quite able to forgive himself and move on, he was at least able to put it aside and get on with his life. It was not quite a year later, and he had managed to put it almost completely out of his mind, when the letter arrived. He didn't recognize the address on it, and the handwriting was unfamiliar too. He opened it and read.

Dear Aidan,
I realize you may not find this to be good news, but it is good news to me, and I thought you should know about it. I'm trying to think how to lead up to this, but nothing comes to mind, so I'll just say it. You have a son. His name is Damien. I wasn't sure when I was pregnant, but when he was born there was no doubt. He has wings, and I haven't been with any aerians but you. I know you don't care much for me, and you may care for him even less, but I can't help but hope that you will want to visit us someday. He ought to at least meet his father.
With love,
Shauna

Aidan sat down suddenly, feeling like his legs might not hold him up any longer. Flame came out of the bedroom and noticed his shocked expression. "Aidan? What is it?"

Wordlessly he handed the letter to her. She slowly scanned the page. Her eyes went wide. Then she sat down on the couch next to Aidan and put her arm around him. "This doesn't change anything I've said, you know."

He nodded, relaxing a little. He hadn't really thought it would, but there was some irrational part of him that had been worried. "I know. But it does change some things."

"Are you going to go visit them?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. Not right now. But eventually..."

"Then I'll come with you when you do," said Flame.

Aidan blinked. He hadn't even thought of that. But somehow the thought of having her there made it easier to imagine seeing Shauna again. He smiled at her. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." She squeezed his shoulders and smiled at him. He leaned against her, feeling again that incredible gratitude and amazement, even stronger now, that someone as wonderful as she would want to be with him.

"I love you," he said softly. "So very much. I don't know what I did to deserve you."

"I love you too," she said, and she kissed him tenderly. He turned to her and put his arms around her and kissed her back. He might have done more, but he could hear the twins playing in their room, and Littlespark was in the kitchen. But it was already growing late, and once they were asleep... He smiled at Flame, and she smiled back with a twinkle in her eye that suggested her thoughts were following his. "Shall I write you a rain check, love?"

He laughed. "Yes, do that."

Later, when the children were all asleep, Aidan and Flame lay together in their bed. He was curled up behind her, his arms around her, holding her close. She sighed happily and pressed back against him. He kissed her shoulder softly. She reached back and caressed his cheek. Then she brushed her hair away from the side of her neck and tilted her head aside in unmistakable invitation.

Aidan hesitated. He had never taken her blood that often, sometimes months passed without that renewing of their special bond. But this time it had been nearly a year. Though he knew she had forgiven him, he still had not fully forgiven himself. He knew he needed to let go of it, to move on, but his guilt remained, because there was one very small part of him that didn't regret it. And paradoxically the fact that part of him didn't feel guilty made him feel guiltier than ever. So he had been afraid. Afraid not so much of what he might feel from her, but of what she might feel from him, that she might sense that part, might know that he had enjoyed it, even though he wished that he could go back, could undo what he'd done. He wanted to say that he wished it with all his heart, but he didn't. He could still remember, if he let himself, the taste of her blood, the touch of her mind, and of her body, and it had been good, very good That part of him not only didn't regret it, it wanted it, craved it, and would do the same again. All that was in his mind, somewhere, and to let Flame touch him, read his heart... he hadn't been able to bring himself to do it.

She hadn't said anything about it, and until now she hadn't done anything to push him either. But apparently she was tired of waiting. And he realized that if now, after so long, he still couldn't put it out of his mind, then he would never be able to. It would always be there, somewhere, however deeply buried. If he was going to wait until it had vanished completely then he would be waiting forever. So, feeling terribly afraid, but feeling also how much he loved his wife, how much he wanted to be with her, to take care of her, to show her his love, he kissed her shoulder again, and then trailed his kisses to the side of her neck.

She made a soft sound of pleasure as he kissed her over the point where her pulse raced close beneath her skin. Then, careful but quick, he bit down, his sharp fangs breaking through her skin, her blood welling up into his mouth.

He had nearly forgotten what it was like, the rush and thrill of taking her blood, the warmth of her heart touching his. She reached out to him without reservations, loving him as fully as ever. He felt the warm glow of her love and his fear fell away. She loved him as she always had, and he... If it was possible, he loved her even more. He had felt what it would be like, for a short terrible time, to lose her. He literally couldn't live without her, and he wanted nothing more now than to be with her forever. He held her close as he slowly took of her blood, of her life that she gave freely to him, and her love flooded through him, as his love flooded through her, and together they reached a place where Aidan felt almost like he would burst from it, it was so wonderfully intense. He drew back from her neck then, and kissed away the tiny trickle of blood that came from the marks he'd left.

"I love you," she said softly. "I love you so very much."

"I love you too," he replied in a voice that trembled with emotion. "I love you more than life, more than anything."

They couldn't stay at that peak forever, and gradually Aidan sensed that Flame was growing sleepy. She had had a long and busy day. He kissed her neck again, and she made a drowsy little sound of contentment. Soon she was asleep in his arms. He closed his eyes and spread one wing over them both. He held her for a long time before falling asleep, and thought, turning things over once more in his mind. As he did so he realized that the little part of him that had not regretted, that had remembered and wanted Shauna, was silent now. Here was his true love, the only woman he could ever want or need. Why should he ever think of anyone else?

When at last he drifted off his sleep was deep and peaceful and his dreams had no one else in them but Flame Song. Chapter 9