Grey and white, the swirling fog conceals us. Not a foggy town, New York City, so when we drive thick mist before us fear and panic meet it.  The stuff of nightmares.

I dream.

A river bank, the sounds of sobbing.  I hear dull thuds too, like the painful beat of a heart, and the grief is overwhelming.  I sniff the air.  Nothing human and something dead, here by the dark Hudson, swift and noiseless and deadly like us.  My people press round and we show ourselves.

It's him.

I've watched him for so long and now, his grief makes him ready for me.  He cradles the corpse, holds it like the lover it once was.  I take the dead thing from his arms and give it to someone to take care of.  Dispose of.  Then, I take him into my arms.

Bring him to me.

Swallow him, like those close black river waters, and make him mine.

Make him mine. He lets me. Hunts beside me, though the dead one is always with us too.  He doesn't see him but I know he knows he's there.  I think maybe I have a lot of time.  Maybe I can wait.  Maybe I won't make it so he doesn't know anything at all but my dream, anyone at all but me.  I see the question in his eyes like coals, something like a plea.  I think that he doesn't know it's there and the only time he stops asking is when he's killing.  Blackness, deep and impenetrable and silent.  Death is swift, too quick for anything except the dying.  He sets them free and I watch escaping souls, eyes wild or calm as they thin out like mist.  The dead boy will not follow.  Auriel will not release him and I see that he is a charm, used so that Auriel will never forget.

I wait.

Our corner of the world, downtown on the West Side where even in the brilliance of summer, there is a stillness that whispers about dark things and dark deeds.  Sunlight will not fall upon these sidewalks and glances off the green of the midsummer leaves.  No human signs, not a whiff of them.  Stopped from crossing our boundary.

But they have, he tells me.  Somehow, he says, one, maybe two of them have crept into our neighborhood.

We stand on the corner of Spring Street and West Broadway and I know he's right.  I know they are hiding and I know it isn't from us.

They know about us but do not seem too concerned, Auriel says. 

But we are more terrible than what they fear. Don't they know that?  They  think that they can escape our notice.  Survive my rage.  Two sacrifices handed to me to show their kind what we do to trespassers.  No coincidence, and I use the opportunity.

I feel them getting smaller as if rolling themselves into little stones, but I know every stone in my territory. Auriel smiles a smile that sets my heart thumping.  There's no escape.  Hunt them down and do what we do like breathing.  Like eating and sleeping and fucking hard.

I drift.

I see them now in an abandoned loft. The fact that they are even there is cleverly hidden but it isn't good enough.  Souls like suns.  Nothing could hide  that force.  I already see it escaping and I know their eyes will be calm.  There's a lot of strength here but as suddenly as I feel it, it's fading.

Someone is shouting, urging speed.  I know Auriel has them.  No more time to think about their power.  No more guessing who they might be.  The deserted street melts into nothing, that space between the worlds, and then, we are there.

False twilight's created by the heavy curtains at the windows.  The old loft is very much like its previous human inhabitants must have left it.  It doesn't fool me but they aren't trying to hide from us.  These deceptions are meant for the human eye.  Maybe they've succeeded: the place is a dump.  This is hardly living.  Dispatching whoever's here will be doing them a favour.

Two boys.

Back to back they stand, holding iron bars. Meant to intimidate but I just smile. Maybe this fight will be interesting.  Maybe I'll play before I kill, cat with not too helpless prey. They are sort of pretty, these dirty humans.  I can tell that Auriel thinks so too.  Light and dark, day and night, they stand there and I savour their balance, the power of their certainty.  Their trust of each other.  When they move, it's one being, the connection between them young and strong. Too much to cut, though I know we could.  We might.  And they'd go off like a rocket.  Maybe Auriel and I could survive the blast.

Does he see it?  Does he *feel* it?  So much like us!  But they are not us. Dangerous, if there are more like these two . . .

Seconds are like hours, the day collapsing to this one point. My move is too quick for the dark haired one.  Only luck on his part that he still holds his weapon. He swings, misses and I wonder what that hair will feel like. How fast will his heart beat?  Bird or rabbit or strong like a bear?  I want to know.  I want my fingers around his throat.  Warm blood is already flowing down my arms.  Should I sing to him?  A deadly song?  All thought, all breath, stopped.  I know Auriel is somewhere close, circling the blond but it's like knowing the sun sets at the end of each day.  There is only the two of us right now, the one with black curls.  Me.  Humming, watching dark eyes that hardly blink.  Wanting to feel skin hot with the determination to survive.  Take his weapon, watch the surprise, laugh at a last ditch effort.  Take his punches and his kicks and force him down.  Feel that moment of surrender and hear his small cry of frustration, desperation but no fear.

And I bite him, hard, draw blood and lick the wound.  Sacrifice and possession.

He is still but not broken. Waiting.  Like lightning, my hands around his throat. I squeeze.  His grip is strong. He struggles to loosen my hold.  No chance.  His hands fall away, his eyes roll up.  I know this stillness.  Let go of him for him to stay or go and remember Auriel, almost as an afterthought.  The blond is lifeless at his feet.  I laugh softly.

Not dead, he tells me and raises his eyebrows. I shrug.  Maybe the dark one will remain with us.  Maybe not.  Maybe he thinks his lover is dead.  I look at the blond.

They could be useful, Auriel tells me.

Are they worth the trouble? I wonder.  A laugh is my reply.

Then kill them!

A dare?  Does he think I won't?

Something's not right.  The human boys lay motionless.  How long? -- Seconds, minutes, hours; night or day.  Nothing exists.  This place that is not, as if during this fight all four of us have fallen into . . .  Where? Our time?  Our neighborhood?  My dream, suspended for now, only a warning in my breast. 

Auriel watches me.  Amusement?  Changing. Changing to something suspiciously like worry.  For two boys?  For these two filthy bunches of rags?  My heart is stone and I kick the one at my feet.  On my knees, my knife is in one hand, the other holds a fistful of thick, dark hair.  Laugh at me, will you?  No hesitation.  Watch their souls fly. Hope the dead one will follow!

I freeze.  Statue still, knife piercing brown skin that gives up a thin trickle of blood.  On my feet, staring at Auriel who looks back at me in amazement.  He doesn't know yet.

"He's gone," I tell Auriel. "Jonathan is finally gone."

Slowly, understanding comes to him and there's a hint of old hurt at the mention of the dead one's name.  I look down.  Brown eyes clear, look at me betraying no thought, no emotion.

"Your name, little boy," I say, pitch the voice so there's no resistance.

"Remir."

"Remir.  I am Adamnae and this is my dream."
   

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