Now she heard her voice filtering up from the basement, coming closer as she climbed the stairs. It was some catchy, bouncy tune about just not being able to get enough. "We slip 'n slide as we fall in love, an’ I just can't seem to get enough..." The basement door swung open, and she almost skipped into the room. "Hey, Nana!"

Nana watched affectionately as she bounced around the kitchen, still singing. She was wearing what used to be called 'baby doll' pajamas: barely there bloomers and a loose, fluffy top with cap sleeves and a deep ruffle at the yoke. With her normally sleek caramel-and-cream hair sleep tousled, she looked about sixteen years old. But Nana knew she had been just over twenty-one when she was Embraced.

Finally Acacia trailed off, and threw herself into a chair, grinning at the older woman. "Ya know, not all of the newer groups are totally lame. Sometimes they come up with something decent to dance to. I heard that on a clothing commercial."

"My, you're in a good mood this evening."

"Yup." She jumped up again, and dug in the cabinets, coming up with a box of Brown Sugar-Cinnamon Pop Tarts. "Nana, did you know that they package these things in twos, but claim that one is a serving?"

"You've mentioned it, more than once," she replied placidly.

Acacia took out a package and ripped it open with small, sharp teeth, then dropped the pastries in the toaster and pushed the plunger. "Yeah, well, I'm convinced that was thought up by a man. I hardly think a woman would be that idiotic." She went to the refrigerator and opened it, then paused, frowning. "Although, judging from some of the assholes they hook up with, I can't be sure."

"Well, dear, you can't compare practical matters with affairs of the heart."

Acacia brought out a tub of soft margarine and a quart carton of milk. "Practical, huh. The human race as a whole is not practical. If they were, the poor would have eaten the rich a long time ago. Guess I shouldn't complain, though, since I qualify as rich."

"Yes, but I think almost all you young people get a bit of Communist in your soul at some point. But once you find out that it means sharing your things, well, it peters out pretty soon."

The pastry popped up, and Acacia dropped it on a plate and slathered it with margarine. She plopped back down at the table and took a hefty bite. "Anyway, the good mood is due to the new case. I been getting bored as hell."

"I thought you were taking care of that matter for... what was her name? Charity? Faith?"

"Nah. Different virtue. Mercy." Acacia opened the carton and drank from the spout.

"Casey! What have I told you about that!" Nana scolded.

Acacia grinned at her, licking off a white moustache. "Don't, you should pardon the expression, have kittens. I don't intend to leave any, so no one is gonna catch my cooties."

"What are you up to tonight, dear?"

Acacia sucked a smear of grease off her finger. "I gotta go collect some info at Crowely's. Naresha set it up with some guy called Randal.” She scowled. "Couldn't she find a lesbian cop to pump for information? She knows how much I hate having to deal with those jerks. Cops are bad enough. Male cops piss me off royally."

"Male anything pisses you off, Acacia."

She sighed. "True. That's why I'm so interested in that cloning garbage they have going on these days." Her blue eyes sparkled. "Just think of it, Nana. If they figure it out, we won't even need 'em to reproduce any more!"

"Really, dear, even you wouldn't do away with all of them, would you?"

She shrugged. "I guess not. Only because it would hurt Milda's feelings, and Naresha would get bored. But I'm all in favor of shipping 'em off to an island, or something." She licked one finger and began chasing crumbs around the table.

"Don't eat those. Get a rag and wipe them up. I swear, you're so uncivilized sometimes." Acacia burped, and grinned at her. But she got the rag and cleaned the table.

"Anybody need anything while I'm out?" She shook the rag into the sink, rinsed it, and hung it neatly over the sink divider to drain.

"Check the board, Casey. That's why we have it."

She slapped her forehead dramatically, drawing a smile from the older woman, and went to the dry wipe note board hung beside the refrigerator. Yes, there were items needed. Naresha, in her lovely copperplate hand, had requested the latest issues of Bizarre and Tangled Webs, a goth literary magazine. There was a short list of health food items in Milda's careful, round, childish hand.

Acacia memorized the list quickly. That was one thing she didn't have trouble with. All three sisters could absorb information like a sponge. She scrubbed the board clean, then added, "Will do," in her own spiky scrawl. A graphologist might have detected certain similarities in all three scripts, but the layman would never have dreamed that they were written by the same hand, and that with the person not consciously trying to disguise the source.

Acacia went back to the basement to prepare. Most of the basement was exactly what one would have expected, given the outside appearance of the building. It was large, grimy, and poorly illuminated. One would have expected to hear the scuttle of rats moving behind the looming boxes and discarded objects of furniture. That wasn't the case. The basement, like the rest of the building was completely rodent free, perhaps the only such structure on this side of town. All three of the girls, like Kitten before them, loved mousies, and ratties were fine with them, too.

One corner of the underground space was different, though. It was clean, if a bit cluttered, and brightly illuminated. The space was defined by a large shag rug in shades of avocado, sage, and forest green. Naresha, when she had first seen it, had remarked that she hadn't seen carpeting like that since the last cheesy seventies porno movie she'd watched.

There was a single bed, covered with a bed set that was a wild, pop art jumble of primary color sixties images: go-go dancers, race cars, record players... A nearby enameled dresser echoed the color scheme, each drawer a different color, and their knobs contrasting colors. Nana teased that she almost needed to wear sunglasses when she straightened up.

The walls were covered with posters, an eclectic selection that included several framed originals of sixties rock venues. But there were also kittens, smiley faces, and several of semi nude young women that would not have been out of place on the walls of most adolescent boys. A psychiatrist might have found these the most telling, if Acacia would have consented to even enter the same room with a known psychiatrist.

Acacia, as usual, went directly to her music center. It contained a record player, cassette deck, 8 track player, and cd player. The record player was used strictly for her long playing albums. All her 45s were in the 1958 Wurlitzer jukebox beside the music center.

*Let's see... Something from '67, I think. That was the worst thing about the 'away time' in the facility. I missed three years of prime music. Yeah, sure, I've caught up with it, but it just ain't like hearing it for the first time on the radio or in a club. Oh, here's a good one!* She punched B-17, and Tommy James and the Shondells started up with 'I Think We're Alone Now.' She sighed happily, starting to move to the beat. She had little use for men, but she had to admit that some of those motherfuckers could make music!

Naresha had her closets, but Acacia hadn't felt like bothering. Instead there were several long, commercial clothes racks. And while Naresha's wardrobe had been a study in somber, Acacia's was a concert of color.

She sorted through her clothes, singing along softly under her breath. She felt like she ought to at least try to halfway conform to Crowely's unspoken dress code. She had a lot of respect for the goths. The closest thing was 'the little black dress' that Naresha had insisted she have. ("We may have a funeral to go to someday, darling." "Or a wedding," Acacia had replied, showing her own concept of tragedy.)

That should do. She added soft leather boots that came up over her knees, and a large peace symbol on a long strand of jet beads, and felt that a suitable compromise had been reached. Luckily the goth makeup wasn't too far off what she favored herself, since white was the preferred shade of lipstick after maroon and crimson. But she didn't bother with the heavy pale foundation and powder. What she was was what they got, like it or lump it.

She examined herself in the mirror, then got a pair of scissors and evened up a few ragged ends on her hair. She carefully gathered every strand of the clippings, added them to what she had cleaned out of her brush, and burned them in a small metal dish kept strictly for that purpose. The ashes went down the toilet. There were certain people... well, beings, who could do major unpleasant things with a few strands of hair, or a fingernail clipping.

Acacia enjoyed the sound her boot heels made, first on the steps, then on the sidewalk. The rapping was sharp, crisp. She's worn these because she didn't expect to have to be stealthy tonight. She'd have to remember to be extra cautious in her movements, if the need arose.

When she got in the Lexus her delicate nostrils flared. Leaning over, she sniffed at the passenger seat, sifting through various aromas, then sat up with a grin. Naresha must have had a good time last night, judging from the smells of musk and blood.

But when she turned the key in the ignition, and saw the needle in the gas gauge sitting almost on empty, she growled a mild invection at her younger sister. The girl seemed congenitally incapable of leaving more than a quarter tank of gas in any vehicle. *I know she doesn't go all that far. What the hell does she do? Siphon it off? Donate it to charity?*

Acacia sighed gustily. This meant refueling before she got started on her errands. Luckily there were all night places in the area.

As she pulled into the convenience store parking lot, she reflected that this was one modern development that had really benefitted her kind. What had vampires done before when they ran out of gas? But, she reflected as she parked at the pumps and trudged into the store to prepay, self serve was something they could have definitely done without.

She took a quick trip to the cooler for a Jolt cola, not sure if Crowely’s would have any on hand, and added a bag of corn chips and a Snickers bar. The plump woman working the checkout sighed as she rang her up. "It must be nice to be young and be able to eat anything you want."

Acacia grinned. "You know it." She had a soft spot in her heart for convenience store clerks, especially those who worked graveyard. She’d done a few brief stints in the job herself, and knew what sort of crap they had to put up with "I'm lucky. With my metabolism, I can eat anything I want." She remembered worrying a bit of flesh out from under one of her nails two nights before. *And you'd be surprised what all that means.*

Outside she settled the nozzle in the tank and started the gas. Then she popped the top on the Jolt, ripped open the corn chips, and started to snack. That was when she noticed the group of boys hiding around the side of the building, whispering to each other. Uh oh. Young males in a pack. Never a good sign.

Very young males, she corrected herself. None of them were much into double digits on age. *Well*,she thought grudgingly,*I guess they qualify as kittens instead of full grown tomcats. But they're up to no good.*

That was proved when one of them crept around the front, crouched low, and reached toward a display of beer that was piled against the front wall. Stupid idea. Open invitation to beer snatches. It had probably been thought up by a male sales rep, who though it would inspire impulse buys. Impulse, yes. Buys? No.

Well, this wasn't going to happen. But Acacia didn't feel like having to chase down the little snots. And any beer taken would probably be ruined in the process.

So, instead, the boy, who just had his hand on a six pack, heard what sounded like a pit bull growling at him. He froze, and looked up to find a woman standing over him. Where the hell had she come from? She was staring down at him with an expression on her face that made his balls try to crawl up closer for protection.

Her voice was low and raspy, "Have you got any idea how fucking skeazy that is? Are you so low that you'd risk that woman's job so you could get a buzz?" His mouth hung open. She snorted. "Stupid question, I guess. Well, guess what, hairball?"

She leaned over him, eyes blazing, teeth bared in a snarl. "I'm your guardian angel, sent to save you from consigning your own narrow little butt to the eternal flames of hellfire. Though I personally don't think it would be much of a loss. You take your hands off the beer, then you and your candy ass friends go home to your mamas and daddies, who should be keeping better track of you. Do this, and maybe I won't show up next to your bed some night. Now, get out of here." His friends had been peering around the corner, round eyed, and she let them all have just a glimpse of her eyes going feral.

They scattered with screams. Very satisfying. She noticed the clerk peering through the window at her puzzled, and gave her a friendly salute. The gas was just about to run over when she returned to the car. Hm. Still a couple of bucks left on the meter. She shrugged, and got in the car, driving off. Let her keep it as a tip. It wasn't worth the trip back in, and she damn sure could use it more than Acacia could.

Besides, she wanted a chance to browse in the news stand before she went to Bounty for Milda's supplies, and the health food store, though open very late by the standards of such establishments, was not all night.