In the end I just grabbed whatever courage I could, from wherever I could, and left. Just like that.  There was no great plan, no dramatic parting scene.  I found my mother in the large kitchen huddled against the uncertainty of the new day. This same kitchen used to be a place of warmth and comfort but things were different then. That was before I began to change, before the world had begun to change, when things were simple and black or white. In those days, grey was a colour for other people's lives. My mother sat alone now, without the comfort of my cowardly father or my brother. Both had decided that the reality of life with me was more than they could bear. The onset of adolescence signalled the end of many things --- the closeness my brother and I shared, my mother's marriage, and any hope of understanding between myself and her.

I pushed these thoughts aside. All of it was past, dead to me already. She looked at me blankly, too far gone to even allow her relief to show. For one moment, I thought I might blast her where she sat. The desire to lash out, to bring her to her knees, shook me with its force. When the feeling finally passed, I was left with the fact that we'd said all we could to each other and there was nothing else. I could not live in her world, hiding my nature and because of this, she could no longer love me. We had come to the parting of ways and so, I turned and walked out. This chapter of my life was closed. I knew it in my bones, in the pit of my stomach, in that part of me between my legs that made me different from mother, father, sister and brother. I wasn't ready to ask myself just where that left me, even though I knew. It left me homeless, physically, emotionally and morally.

Accepting this, my feet took over and I began my trek towards the highway. These were fearsome times but I would not need to worry about the journey or what might be waiting for me at its end. It would be wiser for those who crossed my path to be wary of me.

Spring had already arrived. Summer was not far behind with its promises of heat and sunshine.  It was a relentless sort of sun that filled the sky, spilled down upon the old trees, newly green, that lined the road. The pavement beneath my feet was cracked and warped and in need of repair, a desperate situation for this little town, once renowned and wealthy. Prestigious or not, it still could not escape this tide of change.

If there was life in the houses I passed, I would not have known it. The houses kept their secrets to themselves and not a curtain stirred within them. I didn't let myself think about the friends I once had, schoolmates and neighbours, who might be watching my departure. The vast majority of them, with reason, would breathe a sigh of relief. Cars were strewn along the road and in the yards I passed. Though many of them gave up the ghost long ago, I was tempted to try to get one running, despite the tiny, annoying voice inside that urged me to do my stealing elsewhere. 

Why should I care about this place now? My obligations to it ended the second I left my mother's house for the last time.

The sound of my name brought me out of thoughts growing blacker by the minute. I looked around sharply to see Jonathan sneaking out his front door. Everything in me softened for a moment. I could not help it: Jonathan had been there through everything.

"Well I can't say I'm surprised," he said as he came up to me.

He took my arm and led me up the road a bit and I knew he was nervous about being watched from his house. In a moment of pure spite, I jerked my arm free. Jon allowed it, didn't even rise to the bait and I think I loved him a little more for that.

"Jesus, Auriel. You could give a guy a little more warning. What? You weren't even going to say so long?"

He used the name I had given myself awhile ago. He too had discarded my mother's name for me as easily as I had. The pain of leaving him was like a knife in my gut and the memory of our first meeting washed over me as if it had happened only days ago, not the seven years it really was.

"You've always known that I've been heading towards this, Jon. I've got to go. I've got to go now before my mother and me..."

Perhaps we shared the old memory then of two boys, slightly apart from their peers --- one whose light brown skin and coppery curly hair betrayed his mixed parentage and the other.... Was it my eyes or my longish hair or the adolescent body that didn't seem to quite comfortably fit into a male or female picture? At first, I thought that Jonathan's easy amicability stemmed from a recognition of one more an outcast than he was. I had held myself aloof and he had been undaunted by my coldness. Relentless and patient, he took whatever I could give and it was with a kind of astonished wonder that I finally realised that he was offering true friendship.

The small sound he made brought the present back. Jonathan turned away, looked up to the sky as if he were checking the weather. I knew I could touch his thoughts --- something I hadn't done for a long time now. But I risked it, the briefest of touches. He turned to me then and I saw and felt his unshed tears. I knew he saw my own.

"C'mon. I'll walk some of the way with you," he said.

We started down the road, a little slower than my previous determined pace. Part of me was glad for Jon's company, another wondered just what was to be gained by a long goodbye. But I knew I'd do this whichever way he wanted, the one person genuinely sorry to see me go.

"What finally made up your mind?" he eventually asked.

As if there had been one thing; as if I could reply, oh yeah well when my mother said for the *hundredth time*... Panic clenched my stomach and I was shocked at the calmness of my reply.

"You're going to hear a story when I'm gone. I'm telling you now. The story's true."

"Is it a story I want to hear?"

I couldn't help smiling. Through all our years together, Jon had been the master of selective hearing and selective comprehension. The pain of missing him was already like suffocation.

"Better ask if it's a story you need to hear. I think it is, Jon. It'll keep you safe in the days to come."

He put strong hands on my shoulders, grasped the straps of my sack. I'd shrugged out of the thing before I realised what I was doing.

"Then I want you to tell it to me."

Our pace slowed even more as I searched for the words to begin the story.  His request would be difficult for me but it didn't take me completely by surprise.  I suddenly knew that I wanted Jonathan to hear this particular story from me.

"You were always good about sticking with me when I insisted on crawling from bar to bar," I smiled fondly at him. My words hung in the still air, stole anticipation from the morning. Jon calmed beside me and I was taken back to that time of only a few weeks ago.
***

Sometimes I was in the mood for the up-market places where glimpses of the brats of the rich and famous, doing their obligatory time at the university, were not uncommon. Our forays into this territory were never particularly successful --- a couple of nobodies with hardly anything to spend. If I'd done my hair carefully and had taken a bit of time over my make-up, a few heads would turn as we entered but for the most part, we were left alone. You would watch the girls. Me, I'd watch everybody, looking for someone I still hadn't found.

It was an escape for us. We both knew it though we never really talked about it. After awhile, it was too painful to hang out with our classmates. Maybe we'd make friends with some soul who was adrift for a little while but it always came down to one thing. Make that a few things --- all the things that made me different from our peers.  I was an outcast for good and as long as you associated with me, you were too.

I suppose I began to feel guilty about that. I suppose I began to wonder what you'd do when I left, as I knew I'd eventually have to, and so began to cruise places on my own. Some perverse logic, thinking to myself that if I didn't involve you, I'd wean you off me. You'd move on. Get a girlfriend. Get a normal life.

Or what would pass for one in this place. It's not normal living that goes on here now as familiar things and familiar situations fade away. I guess there's some awareness of this even amongst the students. I find them on the wrong side of the tracks more and more --- as if they need the fatalistic vitality of the workers and the poor, the sort of people who clean their parents' houses and park their expensive cars, to remind them that they are alive.

You probably don't remember that night in The Brewery at all. I think you were busy concentrating on just how many famous faces you could spot. I was female that evening and though no one would approach me --- I was obviously 'with' you --- eyes strayed in my direction again and again. I saw him for the first time that night. The signs were subtle but watching him, I thought that he was out of his depth, over compensating for limitations that, here amongst society's elite, hinted at his lower middle class origins. Nevertheless, he was well received and looking at his build, how broad he was, and his height, I guessed that he was a popular and competent jock. It wouldn't have surprised me to learn that he was a first string football or basketball player, a guess reinforced by the girls surrounding him and his friends.

To some he might have appeared confident, thriving on the attention. It would have been an easy assumption to make watching him in the midst of admiring females and at the centre of his pals' attention. It soon became clear, however, that he was only partially interested in the activity of the group around him. He was content to let his buddies have the attention of the young women. Now and again, a strong hand swept deep brown hair off his forehead and he'd remember to smile at the girl beside him before those dark eyes strayed elsewhere. They passed over me a few times and this evening, without understanding exactly how I did it, I deflected whatever interest they might have held.

I saw the exact moment he found what he was looking for. His eyes widened for a moment before he seemed to remember his present company. Any second, I knew, he'd make some excuse to head in the direction of the table where two women sat, their conversation lost in that cavernous place but obviously intense. It was just as obvious to me that his interruption would be unwelcome. These two could not appear less on the prowl if they tried.

This could either be very ugly or very amusing --- probably both.

He started towards the busy bar and as I knew he would, made a wide detour towards their table. Both women looked up and the slightly puzzled expression on their faces was soon replaced with a look of annoyance. He leaned in closer, smiling a winning smile, one that said that he was used to getting what he wanted. Of course, I couldn't hear the conversation but it didn't matter. All three bodies told me what I needed to know. It wasn't long before the one he was after vehemently shook her head and her companion made as if to rise from her seat. Brave thing. I wouldn't have trusted at all to this guy's sense of chivalry.

Something crossed his face then and as he leaned forward to deliver his parting shot, my imagination filled in the blanks. He continued his journey to the bar. The women seemed to melt with relief and I watched him bully his way to the front of the line waiting to be served.

Don't know what it was about the beast. Perhaps it was just that --- that he was ugly and dangerous beneath those lying good looks. And thought himself in a position to demand anything at anytime. He would get what he wanted by using his face, that solid, muscular body of his and if they did not produce results, he would bully and intimidate. My reaction to this was almost instinctual; the animal attraction the man possessed; the certainty that I could break him and my desire to do just that. I marked him as he returned to his pals and then turned back to you, who hadn't even blinked an eye during all of this, as if nothing had happened. I don't know what got us first, boredom or the end of our limited funds. Probably a combination of both. We left long before the jock and his party but his face, his body, the Attitude, were emblazoned in my mind's eye, burning there like flashes of blinding light.

I didn't want you with me when I saw him again. I also didn't want to find him in the Brewery again. He was just the sort to prowl the darker streets of our little town and sure enough, that was where I eventually found him one night when I had made excuses to you that you'd probably seen through. But Jon, you're never one to ask questions that you really don't want answered.

It was a dirty, hole-in-the-wall kind of place --- and much more home turf to the underclass of our illustrious town. The unseen majority. Beers were a buck and if you were brave enough to put down what passed for Scotch in this place, it would cost you two. There was usually some sort of music going. Normally, I would be male for a place like this but it didn't suit my plans this evening. I knew he'd be there and I wanted him.

I attracted a lot of attention as I entered and I stared back at the sad creatures as they gave me the once over. A few dipped their noses into their drinks but the gesture could not hide their hungry eyes. Not tonight, I told them. Your chance will probably come sooner than you think but just thank whatever god you believe in that it's not tonight.

Settled at the old, none too clean bar, I turned my attention to the sad quartet in one corner and the sounds that leaked away from them that might have been the blues. Music to die by. Looking around me, I saw that every man and woman in this place was already half in the grave. I had deflected their unwanted interest in that way I have and that spark of lust, of life, that had flickered in some eyes was now replaced with a vacant and resigned look. I did not need to look too closely because I knew all too well what I'd see. The little bit of life they'd manage to salvage for themselves, even that was passing now and with this realisation the distance between them and me widened even more. But I didn't give a damn. If some cosmic bolt of lightning struck this place and it went up like dead, dry wood, I'd emerge unscathed. I would still be standing.

I'd begun to think that I had guessed wrong, that perhaps the jock would not show up this evening. I knocked back my third scotch, fished around for my cigarettes and stepped outside. Perhaps it was not the smartest thing to do in this neighbourhood but of course, I was fearless. One street light burned at the corner and the area was mostly still. Now and again, an angry shout could be heard but muffled, as if smothered by the dark. Cars clattered by that lonely streetlamp now and again and I stood under the neon sign of the dive, puffing my butt and drinking in the desolation.

Go or stay? I had just made up my mind to find some entertainment elsewhere when I heard the raucous laughter and the loud voices long before I saw the boys. I should have known he would not venture here alone. I also knew that even though the college boys travelled in a pack, some tough gang might be tempted to try their luck. Tonight however, these boys were lucky. The neighbourhood gangs were obviously busy elsewhere. Jock and his friends seemed to walk these dark streets without a care. Perhaps to some, their stride spoke of confidence. I knew better. I could almost touch the relief that rolled off them when Jock pointed to the tired old sign and declared this was the place. Astonishment and hesitation passed over some of the faces. I fished out another cigarette, shook my hair so that it fell over my shoulders and tried not to laugh out loud at the spectacle of these college boys, used to being the top dogs in their familiar hunting grounds, giving this place the dubious appraisal it deserved.

"Jesus, man. It's like...."

"The fucking end of the world," finished another.

They caught sight of me. I looked Jock straight in the eye.

"Got a light?"

The oldest, surest line in the world. He motioned for the pack to go inside. One part of me noticed the surge of confidence when the boys got a glimpse of the interior of the place and its few pathetic patrons. Most of me, however, was concentrating on the glow Jock held in cupped hands. Of course you can guess what happened next, right? I held those hands in mine and let all the lust I felt flow through the touch. When my cigarette was lit, I looked into his face. What I saw made me smile: I had him.

He followed a woman down the street, long, tall and slim, boyish really, with thick black hair that hung in wild tangles down her back and fell into dark eyes that might have held a secret. If you only knew! But Jock never stopped to ask himself what might lie behind the look I gave him. Did not stop for anything, not even a name. There was only one thing on his mind and complicated thought was not something he was capable of at the moment. I led him down the street, away from the light and the music of the bar; away from the safety of the pack, like splitting off the one special animal from the herd. Night soon swallowed us and the few houses around stood silently, dimly lit, fearful of the uncertainties the dark brought now.

I knew of an old alleyway that used to connect two small parking lots. Hardly anyone used the lots these days and certainly no one used them now at night. I led him there and to his credit, he paused at the entrance, looked back to the bar as if he were looking across the galaxy. Oh no, you are not going anywhere. I stroked his arm.

"Not going to back out now, are you?"

Strong hands gripped my biceps and I was walked backwards into the alley. My back came against the old stone a little too hard and the pain only made me more determined. I let him press himself against me, grind his hard cock against my belly. The suddenness of his arousal fed my own and I hummed in appreciation when he slipped a hand into my shirt.

"Not much in the tit department," he muttered into my hair.

"What can I say? Small chests run in the family," I retorted and thrust my hand into his jeans.

"And what about tight cunts?" he moaned.

"Maybe you'll find out."

He fumbled at the button on my jeans and before I realised what was what, had them around my ankles. His fingers found what he most wanted right then and I was ready for him. Out of my hand and right into me he thrust, as if fucking strangers against stone walls in alleys was something he did every day. I met his every thrust, gripping him with a strength that shocked him but he was too far gone to stop, had to come before he could think about what was happening to him. 

He exploded with a sound between a groan and a half strangled yell and I gave him no time to recover. I meant to have him and have him now. As the euphoria of a good fuck washed over him, I slid off him, stroked and kissed him as I manoeuvred him against the wall, slid my wet groin against him and listened to him pant in appreciation.

I began to change then, too swollen clitoris growing and growing until Jock was suddenly still despite my petting.

"What the fuck..."

"Your turn, Jock," I laughed softly and it was not a pleasant sound.

He found himself chest flat against the wall, feet tangled in denim and my hands spreading his ass. I was ready for this too --- my cock hard and aching. I sought relief quickly, ignoring his cries, easily containing his struggles by locking his muscles with a thought. But I did not block his awareness. I wanted him to remember every thrust and when I hit his prostate again and again, wanted him to remember every bolt of pleasure. Pain and pleasure, need and humiliation. I took him and when I was finally done, held him hard against he wall while my sanity returned.

I realised he was weeping. In the next second, I realised something else. We had an audience.

"Well, lookie here," came a voice. "You boys having fun?"

I heard Jock mutter a curse and I glanced over my shoulder to see five guys bunched at the alley's entrance, every particle of their beings focused on us. I pulled up my jeans as they all snickered. At my back, Jock had not moved. I suppose he figured death was about the best thing that could happen to him now. But I was not ready for that, certainly not at the hands of these small time louts from the wrong end of a university town. I wondered only for a second about guns but decided from the look of them, closely cropped hair, dark clothes, foot gear any marine would be proud of, these guys would much rather kick the shit out of us.

"Well fag boy, now that you've got your pants up..."

There was approving laughter and the leader, advancing before his troops, continued, "Is lover boy gonna pull his up too or is he gonna die with 'em around his ankles?"

I shrugged. "Up to him whether he pulls them up or not but neither of us is dying tonight."

The first attack seem to come out of nowhere. I became aware of the lout's thoughts slowly but fast enough to realise the knife was in his left hand. He was a clever one --- none of that stupid Hollywood stuff. The knife was low, beside his thigh and I dodged a lightning quick thrust only just. He was aiming for my belly but nicked my side. The others saw I was wounded and closed in faster than I'd thought possible. Incredibly, my first concern was Jock. But they could see he was penned in and immobilised by his fear. They would take care of me and deal with him leisurely afterwards.

As I fell to my knees, a boot was headed for one of my kidneys. I don't know how I managed to avoid the blow but roll I did as thought fled and instinct took over. I did not avoid the vicious kick entirely and it knocked the wind out of me. Red fury seized me then, the blind rage of some wounded, wild thing. The knife wielder found himself disarmed and his own knife plunged into his belly. I managed to slice two others before they were all upon me, struggling to hold me down the better to beat me to death. White hot anger and a fear I'd never felt before ripped through me. Hardly aware of what I was doing, I began to scream.

Hands fell away from me as if they'd never been there. My would be murderers crouched around me, terror in their eyes, fists against either side of their heads. Some sort of awareness was returning to me and I knew then that I had not made a sound. Energy and power burst from me and the effects were chilling. I didn't hesitate. The knife came down again and again until the two or three who could, crawled away from me and those who were left didn't move at all.

Calm settled over me at last. I could hear Jock behind me whimpering, trying to make coherent sounds leave his throat. He had a look in his eyes as if all the horrors of hell had been revealed to him in an instant. I smiled. Not far from me lay the leader of the pack. I walked over to him and kicked him in the side, hard. When he did not move, I turned to Jock.

"What kind of fucking freak are you?" he managed to ask.

I recognised that tone of voice and wondered if he tottered on the brink of insanity, then decided I didn't care.

"The kind that just saved your fucking worthless ass," I replied calmly.

"Where the fuck do you come from? What the fuck *are* you?! --- A woman, a man...."

I laughed, long and hard.

"Pull up your pants, Jock," I finally gasped and he obeyed a little too quickly. "This is my hometown," I hissed. "A woman or a man? I'm both! And neither. Now get the fuck away from me!"

He didn't need to be told twice.
***

For a long time after I had finished the story, Jonathan did not say anything. We were approaching the town limits and so I guessed whatever remark he wanted to make would come soon.

"So, Auriel, what does all this have to do with me?"

I stopped in my tracks and turned to him.

"I'm telling you this so that you will be on your guard! I don't know if there are others like me but if there are...."

He smiled softly and kicked at a stone. "I see," he finally said.

I started walking again and he fell into step beside me. I slowed.

"We'd better say goodbye here," I finally whispered. I had always known this would not be easy but the reluctance I began to feel, the overwhelming need to be past this moment, made it hard for me to breathe.

Jonathan was still smiling, still not looking me in the eye.

"Two things. First, I've come this far. Be kinda pointless to turn back now. Second, who better to look after me than you?"

A travelling companion: an idiot. I had no idea what was ahead. Would probably have a time protecting myself. And if there *were* others like me.... But I knew something else. I could not leave Jon behind.

"Very well," I said softly. "But Jon..."

"Don't say anything."

We fell into step again, headed north to New York and whatever awaited us there. I don't know why but I had an idea that the decay already upon us in these small towns would somehow be kept at bay in the city. I also thought that perhaps there I would find whatever drove me now. 

Our trip was uneventful and along the way, I became aware of how easily I could get whatever I wanted from the people we encountered, whether a ride further up the road or more cash to ease us on our way. We came across a few predators and I knew they saw us as easy marks. Maybe if I had been on my own I might have engaged in a battle of strength and will with these dangerous creatures. I knew I'd be the victor. I also knew I'd enjoy the look of surprised terror in their hard eyes before I rid the world of another hunter. But Jon was beside me, quietly observant, offering no comment when I accepted some lifts and refused others. Trust and confidence flowed from him as he watched me use the senses he did not have to choose the safest route to the city.

New York was a place I'd ignored most of the years leading up to my adulthood. It had always been a fabled place up the highway, a sprawling, dangerous maze to be navigated with care and I could count on one hand the number of trips I'd made to the place. Now, my heart beat erratically as we stood gawking in Mid-town. It was hot for late spring and, as if to give us a vision of what summer would bring, heat rose off tarmac and cement causing hot air demons to shimmer in the distance. I realised we needed a plan. One look at Jonathan's face, a most enticing mixture of delight, awe and panic, told me that I would have to be the one to devise it.

We found ourselves ensconced in that part of New York known as Hell's Kitchen, north of the infamous 42nd street, the city's theatre district, where glamour and decadence met destitution and despair. Only rarely did one take note of the other and I was glad for the times when these two opposites collided. Always careful of my looks, I easily snared the affluent, well-dressed men who came to this part of town looking for something other than the latest Broadway play or musical. Whether they got what they were seeking or parted abruptly with their valuables very much depended on what sort of mood I was in. For a time, Jonathan and I balanced on the financial edge and consequently, I was not inclined to treat my prey kindly; was more inclined to take from them whatever I wanted. Eventually, our situation eased slightly but I found that my dark mood did not lighten even though I was able to keep the wolf further and further from our door.

We lay in bed as morning crept over Manhattan and the sounds of people beginning their day intruded. Tenement living was never private living. Anything and everything could be heard, and usually was. The same people fighting like cats and dogs early in the evening could be heard humping like rabbits in the late hours of the night. Children who, in daylight hours, bluster and bully their way through these garbage strewn streets, are wisely silent in the dark hours when faced with the rage of parents left powerless by a hard, nearly impossible life.

Jonathan snuggled beside me, able it seemed to forget so much in the comfort of the warmth of our bed. We were co-conspirators against our more unfortunate neighbours. We appeared to scrounge around for the months rent, as they did, when the slumlord's rat-faced sons came to collect it. It suited me fine that since our arrival in the city, Jon seemed a little overwhelmed by the experience, momentarily off balance in the Manhattan hustle. I liked the thought of him tucked up relatively safely in our little hovel while I dealt with the unsavoury characters that allowed us to survive. He could see how far from the edge we rapidly moved as I became more sure of myself and more familiar with this dark territory. However, as if by unspoken agreement, amongst our desperate neighbours, we were anxious not to appear too well off.  Things appeared now and then, but not too often; a new outfit for Jon, new boots for me. Jonathan took his gifts with a look in his eye I knew very well and I wondered when he'd speak the works that were on his mind.

I was dreading them.

They came one early morning as we lie in bed. Maybe it was the very real fear of ruining our friendship but still, I found it incredible that we'd never made love, though we shared the same bed. Wondering, for the hundredth time, what would happen if I were brave enough to attempt it, I felt him stir beside me.

"Auriel."

I didn't reply. I kept my expression carefully neutral.

"While you were out last night, I decided something."

I grunted. Not an encouraging sound, I hoped.

"I've got a job."

For a moment, the words did not compute. Then, I raised myself onto an elbow and smiled at him.

"Doing what?!" I demanded.

He flushed a most delicious shade and I decided to embarrass him more often.

"Oh nothing grand," he said a bit too quickly and I knew whatever this job was, he thought he should have done better. "Just a thing at the local bookshop --- Barnes and Noble. They were looking for staff and I thought what the hell..."

I had thought perhaps he'd meant to leave me. The relief I felt left me weak for a moment and completely unable to react. Jon leaned over me and kissed the corner of my mouth.

"I know you keep a lot to yourself..."

"Yes," I murmured. "But you realise that you don't really need this job."

He chuckled. "Yeah. I know that. But do you expect me to sit in here looking at these four ugly walls day in and day out? And our neighbours aren't exactly the social sort."

I gave a small laugh and tried to be glad for his sake but a heaviness settled in my heart when I thought about him navigating the city perils on his own. Without me.

There was silence for a minute. Time seemed suspended and something I could not quite identify hung in the air.

"I want you to think about giving it up," he finally murmured. "I want you to think about not walking the streets, prowling the night. I want to know that you're safe."

A fist closed around my heart and the words were out of my mouth almost before I could think them.

"What would I do? What would happen to us?"

"We'd survive. People do, you know."

"Jon, I am what I am."

He did not reply. Instead, there was a look in his eyes I recognised, but had never seen from him. No, that is not entirely true. Perhaps I caught fleeting glimpses in the past but always, one of us would pull back from the brink. There was no pulling back this time. His body covered mine and he kissed me slowly, thoroughly and I responded instantly. Gradually I relaxed in his embrace, everything in me beginning to run like a quick mountain stream at the approach of spring. I surrendered to him, was soft and yielding in his arms; nurtured his passion until it reached the heights of my own and the soft, moist sounds of lovemaking filled our little bedroom, obscuring the mundane city noise.

At last he looked at me with wonder.

"I didn't know it could be like that," he said. He closed his eyes and put his curly head on my chest, closed his hand around a small breast.

"This is only half of what I am, Jon. There's more."

"I know."

And he tightened his embrace.
***

There is a figure that haunts my dreams. I can never clearly see his face nor make out much about him. He stands in rubble strewn lots, never anywhere I can say I know for sure, yet there is something horribly familiar about these plots of recent devastation.

I know the destruction is recent just as I know this person is responsible for it. The darkness shifts behind him as I watch, as if invisible legions lurk there, waiting for his commands. He lets them wait. He's waiting as well, clothed in black and heavy night, and his burning eyes find me, wherever my hiding place. I realise: he's waiting for me.
***

I don't know why we waited so long. Now that the bridge had been crossed, it was hard for me to imagine a time when Jonathan did not share my bed, did not wrap his long body around mine and take me with that quiet strength that obliterated any lingering reminders of my work on the streets. I forgot about my whore's life, my life of thuggery and theft, when I lay beneath him, held hard against the bed in his passion, everything in me rushing down to the place where we two became one. The night he lay under me, breathing quickly with anticipation and apprehension, I knew I could die at that instant. He accepted all of me, everything I was, and submitted to me with the same fierce love he had always shown: when we were adolescents; as we grew older. When he fucked me senseless.

I never considered the possibility that I would have the power to create Others like me. When signs that Jonathan was changing began to appear, we could only trace it back to when we started making love. I soothed his anxiety, hiding my own, reassured him when he panicked yet wondered if the man I loved would survive this metamorphosis. A needless worry, as it turned out. As Jonathan came to grips with his new life and tentatively tested his new powers, more ordinary events overtook us. He started his job and was soon swept into the nine to five existence, bringing home tales and adventures of people I knew only through him. He seemed happy, however. It was suddenly not uncommon for both of us to leave our little hovel, disappearing into the city nights for very different purposes. My business took me to the city's far west side while Jonathan, more often than not, was headed to the Upper West Side and the stylish coffee houses and bars there that were the haunts of the intellectuals he met at work. As I sized up potential business, I would sometimes let my mind wander, homing in on Jonathan's psychic signature which was stronger now that he had changed. For me, the feel of his mind was like a powerful lighthouse and myself a small craft just off an alien, rocky coast.

I should have been glad of his evenings out with his new acquaintances. I should have been glad that Jonathan finally had some sort of life outside of our depressing apartment building and that he was cultivating relationships other than our own. But my mood only darkened the cheerier he got, the more that confidence he always had asserted itself. There was an air of resigned patience when he was aware of my mental touch now --- when he knew I lurked on some dark street and he sat at some small bar's pavement table somewhere on Broadway in the Seventies, enjoying the lingering balminess of summer sliding into autumn.

A Rolex watch was the price my last 'customer' of the evening paid, though he paid it unwillingly. I knew he'd wake up in the morning and wonder why in the world he'd surrendered his elegant, if imprecise, status symbol. There would be a voice in the back of his head warning him that it was a small price to pay in the end for his late night adventure. There was a tiny voice in my head now, urging me to Broadway and 72nd street and a little nondescript bar that stood on the south-east corner. I knew better than to ignore it. Cabs were scarce on this side of town and the few I caught sight of were all off duty. I thought I knew a quicker way to travel and the idea nagged at me like the remnants of a dream. The knowledge refused to take shape in my mind however, and I forced an off duty cab, probably on its way home to Brooklyn or Queens, to take me where I wanted to go.

As we sped up the West Side Highway, I wiggled out of the tight skirt I wore and slipped jeans out of my sack.

"What the hell are you doing back there?" the driver asked, watching me in the rear-view mirror.

"Never mind," I hissed. "Keep your eyes on the road, asshole."

The combination of my voice, not quite a woman's voice, and the pulses of danger I sent his way, had the desired effect. I was deposited on the bar's doorstep and the driver neglected to ask for the fare.

I stood in a sea of activity. Even at this time of night, cars, cabs and buses were dangerous beasts that choked the broad street, one of New York's major east-west thoroughfares. It could have been midday instead of close to midnight with the number of people still about. Summer's last gasp was apparent; the night already hinted at autumn and amongst the scurrying hordes, skimpy summer dress had already given way to long sleeves and sweaters.

The crowds headed north and south along Broadway diverting around me like a stream around a boulder. There was a singing in my head, tuneless, without words but low and insistent. I stood there watching traffic lights, watching buildings run away from me downtown to where they slammed into the skyscrapers at midtown and ground my teeth to the beat of this song I heard. It grew louder, shaking my entire body so much that I could hardly make my hand grasp the door handle, hardly command my feet to go forward, hardly focus my eyes in the smoke filled room, demand that my brain cope with the task of finding Jonathan.

"Auriel!"

I fastened onto his waving hand and bright smile. I could see it fade just a little when my eyes met his. He was on his feet and then at my side. I got a glimpse of his companions before he reached me and all my attention was focused on him.

"You look like crap," he murmured. "Did you have trouble tonight?"

"I need a beer," I managed to say. It wasn't the reply he wanted, I knew. Nevertheless, Jonathan steered me towards the bar and did not say anything until he'd ordered my beer.

My head pounding, I swayed to the bar, desperate to know the source of this attack. I took a swig of beer and closed my eyes for a second, reaching out, suspecting Jonathan's cohorts at first. All I felt from them, however was a mild curiosity. They wondered who the woman Jon had rushed to comfort was. Some of the women were not so certain I was female and I knew they watched us closely. But whatever this ruckus in my head, Jonathan's friends were not responsible.

I looked quickly at Jonathan and saw that his attention was focused on the table he'd just left, a slight frown on his face. For an insane moment, I wondered if he debated about introducing me, was turning over in his mind just *how* he'd do it. Perhaps I was unwelcome in this part of his life; this tidy, normal escape from the dark uncertainty that was his life with me.  Even as distracted as I was, anger and jealousy consumed me, instantaneous combustion, and the emotions leapt out before I knew it. He jerked back from me, surprised, and a wariness I'd never seen before in his eyes.

"Jesus..." he muttered. "What the hell is *wrong* with you?"

"I'm not sure, Jon, but I want you to leave with me now."

He looked at me blankly for a moment and then, a hardness appeared in his dark eyes.

"You're jealous, Auriel. God. Your timing is lousy. All these years you've been agonising over our relationship and now, when I think I made it clear how I feel about you, you get in a snit about a night out with friends!"

No! Yes, a smaller voice conceded. But it wasn't the point right now. I tried desperately to dampen the clanging in my brain. I was still trying to locate its source, certain now that it was a danger to us. Close: the source was close and I shook with rage that I could not pinpoint it. When I did, I would blast the perpetrator out of existence....

Jonathan was looking at me, his anger leaking away, an aura of doubt settling around him.

"You.... The cops aren't after you, are they?"

I laughed, genuinely amused. He smiled sheepishly, guessing at the absurdity of his question.

"No, love. But someone is. It's too public here..."

"Exactly why we should stay. Look, can you pull yourself together? There're some folks I really want you to meet."

"Okay. But we're not staying long. And, if I figure out who's doing this...."

"You think it's one like you..." I could hear the note of fear in his voice but he did not ask the questions I knew were crowding his brain.

Like *us,* I spoke gently in his mind.

He covered his anxiety by ordering more beer and slowly looked around the busy place as we were waiting. I knew he wasted his time. He stole quick glances at me from the corner of his eye and I finally managed to put on a brave face. The noise in my head was fading, ever so slowly, to a background hum and for the first time since I entered the bar, the sounds of men and women enjoying the late evening were at the forefront of my awareness. I steeled myself for the awkwardness of meeting new people and followed Jonathan to the table.

Difficult as it was, I decided to let Jonathan call the shots. If it had been left up to me, we would have been making excuses and taking our leave of his friends nearly as soon as the introductions were made. But I sat there and made distracted conversation as I tried to figure out precisely what was going on.

He was strong. Strong enough to block me but uncertain of his powers. What had started as a powerful attack was fading now, slowly but surely, and I guessed that he was afraid of being caught should he continue any longer. That thought gave me confidence. Still, I was relieved when Jonathan finally signalled that he was ready to go. We said our goodbyes and escaped from the noisy bar.

The city was sliding into that time between late night and very early morning. Though the traffic had not disappeared, it had slowed considerably and the constant city hum was indistinct, as if muffled by distance. I looked at Jonathan, trying to get a sense of this reality understanding in some fundamental way that I stood with one foot in this world, beside Jon, and the other...

"Can you take him?" Jonathan asked me. The tension in his voice belied the easy way he walked beside me.

I nodded. "If I could find him. The signal has practically disappeared now. But I know he's close. He doesn't want a confrontation yet."

I watched a peculiar calmness settle over him; watched as he weighed up the price of dragging this situation out against an immediate ending. He said, "Then let's make it easy for him, if you think you can take him. Let's walk home along the quietest streets we can find."

"You're insane," I replied. "What makes you think I want to face him with you around? No. When I finally get him, I want you well out of the way. We're cabbing it this evening."

He gave me his "I can take care of myself" look but did not reply. I slipped my arm around his waist and drew him close.  He gave me a squeeze in return, then linked his arm through mine. I stepped towards the curb and raised my hand, hardly giving it a second thought when a large checker cab appeared from nowhere.

We sped downtown along Broadway, something settling in the pit of my stomach. I watched the buildings go by in a blur, alert suddenly to our progress. Though the cabby didn't deviate from the expected route at all, I couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't quite right. Jonathan leaned against me, eyes closed, wiped out from a day of work and an evening that had lasted longer than he expected.  I held him close, as if clinging to him could keep me beside him in this reality. But the song was starting again, gaining strength and as the cab approached our neighbourhood, I knew I had no choice but to let go and end this for good, one way or another. I drew a breath and before I could exhale, the world shifted.

It could have been an alternate reality or the corridor between the mundane and dreams. It didn't matter. There was darkness here and a presence. For the first time this evening, my head was clear and I knew that terrible danger lurked in this place. My adversary hid himself in this night, wrapped it around him like a cloak of invisibility. He waited and I felt his confidence that he would win this showdown.

When his first strike came, my head exploded, shattered like a melon under the fall of a hammer. His satisfaction was a demon taking shape in the blackness around us. I tried to scream. But my attacker knew my tricks. I held myself very still, seized the panic growing in me, forcing calm as I waited. Soft laughter reached me and then, he spoke in my head.

"You did this to me, Auriel. You made me a freak like you and now, you're going to pay."

I saw him then. Incredibly, Jock was in my mind's eye, hardly changed from that last time I saw him.  What changes there were marked him as one of my kind. He still wore his hair short, shorter than when he was male, and there was a hardness to his features that plainly said he was consumed with hatred. A slight swelling in his shirt told me that at the moment, he was female and the determination flowing from him spoke of my death.

Perhaps I should succumb. Jock would scatter my molecules in this place between worlds. I no longer doubted that he could. My dark days would be done and Jonathan released. I struggled with the pain and confusion, felt them beat against my ribs like wild things seeking release. 

"Surprised at how strong I am?" Jock laughed. "I studied hard. Just for you. Asshole."

Suddenly, loud and clear in my head, I heard, *You can take him, Auriel! He's a shit! A little nothing you once screwed in an alley, for fuck's sake...*

Jonathan's voice, Jonathan's courage and outrage blasted out at me from everywhere and nowhere. I couldn't tell where he was or how he did it and had no time to wonder. Suddenly Jock's grip was strong on me, a squeezing of my heart and mind. Another kind of darkness was approaching. If I fell into this night, I wouldn't see light again.

I struck out, my thought like a knife aimed at Jock's beating heart. When I did, I felt something fly into the darkness, aimed at Jock, distracting him for a second. I did not hesitate. With the fury of something desperately clinging to life, I closed a fist around his thoughts but knew something slipped through my fingers, a tendril of hatred and power that whipped out into the black and found its mark. There was an abrupt gasp, a little moan of shock, and a despair unlike anything I had ever felt in all my difficult life careened into me. 

"Jon!" It was a raw, broken sound: barely his name and I received no answer.

I wanted Jock dead then, dead so that no trace of him remained. Dead to acquaintances, friends and parents; so dead that not an atom remained to say he'd walked this earth. I found my voice, found my power and sliced into him.

Another sound surrounded me now, Jock's choking rage as he realised his miscalculation. I was beyond reason. I tightened my deadly embrace, stopped the breath in his throat. His struggles were strong: he nearly threw me off with a desperate heave. With grim, lethal determination I hung on until he shook with final effort and fear. Then when he was still, I blasted what was left of him into the oblivion around me. I was alone.

*Auriel. Come.*

It wasn't Jonathan. Jock was dead. I didn't know who called me and, exhausted, wracked with grief, I didn't much care who it was. I could only think of a cab, heading to Hell's Kitchen, and wondered what I would find when I got there. My powers sharpened by the battle with Jock, I threw myself into the void and travelled back to New York by means I'd only vaguely sensed until this moment.

But when that place between worlds fell behind me, I was not drawn to the cab. There was water, a wide, swiftly flowing expanse. I recognised the Hudson and the few winking lights of northern New Jersey across the shimmering, slate grey gulf. Crouched in the slick ooze of the river's banks, I guessed I was somewhere far north, at the limits of the City around the George Washington Bridge. I wanted to lie there forever, ready now to embrace the death I'd just narrowly escaped. Jonathan was gone. I knew it like I knew my own name and I couldn't see how to go past this moment.

"I'm sorry, Auriel. I came too late."

It was the voice that had called me here. With effort I opened my eyes and forced them to see through the gloom.

A tall, striking woman stood before me, dressed in tough black leather from head to toe. Brown-blonde hair, thick and begging to be touched, was gathered by leather thongs on the crown of his head, spilling freely about his shoulders. The eyes that watched me burned with an intensity that made me gasp. The last concealing wisps of dream were brushed aside and I knew who this stranger was. He made a small gesture with a long white hand and a small group stepped forward, a burden handled carefully amongst them. I groaned, crawled forward and drew the still form of Jonathan to me.

"You must never underestimate the hatred men have for us. I'm sorry you had to learn this way...." His long hand stroked Jon's curls as I held him to my heart, as if mine could beat for us both. "He still had a lot to learn but he would have been a strong one. He loved you fiercely."

Then, he parted us with a strength I could not believe. As I keened, an inhuman sound, his soldiers took Jonathan away and, for a moment, I found myself looking into eyes capable of razing cities. Then merciless rage and despair surged from me and I pounded the yielding mud, each futile blow a denial. He watched, unmoving, and we both knew: his time of waiting was over.

"I am Adamnae. I'll take care of you. You belong to me now." Leather clad arms enfolded me and through the grief that closed over me, like angry waters, was the dim realisation that at last I had found my place. 
*****
 

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