LOOSE CHANGE

It's sometime deep in the dark a.m. and we are following our usual drill when the band shuts down and leaves whoever's left in the Diner at the mercy of the record jockeys. The selection is definitely decent so I figure it must be Lizzie B. in the box. Music, if not the actual band, plays on and most of whoever is left is dancing. We're a genuine night-loving bunch in the Old Dominion.

Bands are what we are talking about sitting at our regular table, Bel and the new guy, Ramzi, Roxanne, Fist and me. And Snow.

Snow is sitting opposite me, pale as porcelain, fine as wine. More beautiful than harvest-moonlight grazing on water lilies. A Goth-crossed mixture of fashion-by-Erte and face/body-by-Amano, easily the most exotic in the room, mortal or Fae. He should be wearing a sign around his neck reading "born to be spoiled" but Snow is too smart and tough to fall for that shit even though he likes getting presents as much as anybody I've ever met. More than some. He's so great. He is as delighted with a fifty-cent bangle bought off the street as he is with a six-thousand dollar Cedric chain mail halter and belt.

Money's not a problem. Obviously any shekel invested in concert with - or prior to - the Dawn of Civilization is going to yield some hefty returns x-millennium later. Besides, the Dragonriders know how to tap ALL the earthly veins in addition to those that spill the sangre divine and we're not all so terribly tight with our hordes. What would be the point?

Snow doesn't care about money although he's more starved for "gestures of affection" than anyone I've ever known. Despite all that, he's not spoiled and I don't expect he ever will be. But I have fun trying.

Okay. I know. I'm biased. Snow is my lover of choice, my mate. Not that choice has a lot to do with it. There's a peculiar mental/physical chemistry that takes on a life of its own sometimes and I guess that's what happened to us. We're not always compatible, we don't like all the same things. Felix and Oscar comparisons have been made (I'm not that bad. I don't care what anybody says. Then again, Snow's not that persnickety. Or he wouldn't be fucking around with me). Still, we're not total opposites either. There's more of heaven than hell in our relationship.

Regardless, we are together. We met, then separated and tried to stay apart but there was just too much chemistry (or whatever) pulling us together and making us crazy when we tried to resist so here we are. Sitting in the bar, trying to come up with names for the band.

That was Snow's idea. "The band's got to have a name," he said.

"But we're not really a band," I told him. "We just get together and play."

"Every weekend and most week nights. You've got a following. People come from all over to hear you. That's how we met, remember? You ought to find a name for yourselves that you like and that fits before someone else comes up with something you're not happy with but sticks."

He said that all in the same breath with his very classy sounding British voice which is something of a turn-on for me.

"Stop that," he demanded. "Get a grip, Tony. I'm serious."

Hard to take him seriously when he's laughing like that.

"What kind of grip would you like?" I asked.

He showed me.

God.

Well. Back at the bar. We are all babbling more than usual 'cause it's been a particularly good crowd and the music came out in an especially excellent manner. As Roxanne observes, "very hot for such cold souls."

I am soaring high since I'd fed well and deep earlier while it was still p.m. Sunday. Lorett Wilkins, new to the scene, visiting relatives just like she had every summer since she was eight years old. Now she was eighteen, lean in the right spots and broad and soft in the others and full of brass and good times. She was young but she was smart, too, and her aunt trusted her out on her own. Even in places like the Diner.

That's what drew me to her first off, her being such a kid and all, hanging free and easy in a place like this. Didn't want trouble so I made it a point to keep an eye on her. It was more than the Pact we made with the Dominion powers when we first arrived. It's just that things can get out of hand whether you mean for it to happen or not. People can get carried away by the moment and, when mortals mix with Fae, especially Blood Fae, things have a tendency to become so permanent. I didn't want the kid to be hurt.

Lorett and I hit it off fine. She was a funny, loving girl. Got to say I began to look forward to running into her. Pretty soon I can see she's really looking forward to running into me, too, for all the obvious and usual reasons. She liked me. A lot. Lorett had a crush on me.

There are all kinds of vampires and we all have to feed but I don't respond well to that sort of . . . access. If you have any empathy at all, you key into what that other person is feeling. Feeding off another being - it's almost as close as anyone can get. Hard to insulate yourself. "Crushes" always love you/want you/need you for all the wrong reasons. It's like sucking on glue. The old take-me-I'm-yours-dark-demon-of-the-night is not my style. What they think is going to happen, what they believe you're going to do to them is usually pretty vile. Ever consider how many of those cross-wielders and barely-clad, midnight investigators manage to fall right into the path of their Worst Nightmare? Like they got together ahead of time and agreed: "Let's split up and die stupid and messy!"

Idiots. There are always plenty of Fae out there who exist only to fulfil their every nightmare. But that's not my function. I'm not always sure what my function is supposed to be but I do know what it's not.

Most of the time.

Anyway, when Lorett looked at me, she never saw anything dark and her crush didn't get in the way of us being friends.

She was already at the Diner when I came in that night and right off I could see she was feeling low. Turned out this was her last weekend before heading back to Cleveland and for some reason or another, she was sure she was never coming back to Dominion.

"Why?" I asked.

"I don't know," she said. "Time moves so quickly here. It feels like it was yesterday when my folks dropped me off and tomorrow it's back to the land of K-Mart and MTV and mall-speak and diet cuisine."

"No. I meant why are you grouching about leaving a dump like Dominion when you can live in a terrific place like Cleveland?"

"Nobody lives in Cleveland."

"I was kidding with you. Ha-ha. Get it?"

"Yeah. I get it."

"God, Lorett. Is it that bad?"

"I want to stay here."

"Why?"

"Because I do."

"Now there's a good reason."

"You don't understand."

"Yes, I do."

I did, too.

We stood around quiet, Lorett moping and sorry about it but not able to perk up. You didn't have to be Fae to see she was feeling as tender and exposed as a raw wound. And bleeding all over the floor.

"I'm not going to tell you that you'll get anything you want if you believe hard enough and try hard enough," I said after a while. "That's the kind of crap grown-ups feed kids to get their hopes up, to get around them. Maybe you won't come back to Dominion. Maybe you'll find something you like better."

"Thanks a lot, Tony. Talk about grown ups - you sound just like them."

"I am a grown up. I'm older than you think and I've been around long enough to know things don't always work out like you want. Nothing ever goes the way you wish it would. But sometimes the end game turns out better than what you wanted in the first place."

"Wishing - that's a science I've studied, you know?" she told me. "I've tried everything, birthday candles, first star at twilight, dandelion fluff, wedding cake, flower petals, chicken bones. They say you have to believe to make it work. And I do. I've believed in everything from the tooth fairy to Santa Claus to fairy rings to Snow White and Peter Pan. I even believed in thin thighs in thirty days but that didn't come true either."

She tried for a laugh but her eyes were reddening up and getting wet. She looked at me. Muttered something like "shit" and looked away. I often have that effect on people.

Folks have such hang ups about age. Most would say Lorett was only eighteen and too young to be a cynic. Certainly too young to know what she wanted and understand the responsibilities. Bullshit. I've known justifiable skeptics no older than six. Hurt, frustration, disillusionment and need has no age limit, belongs to no particular sex or race.

I wanted to say "Look, Lorett, people are only people no matter where they live or how old they are. Everybody's got problems. Everybody's got dreams they wish would come true. Everybody's got their own special wishing star" but then I really would have sounded like a numb phooka's ass.

Instead I said: "Believe in yourself."

Now, I could have walked away at that point. Smiled and patted her head and treated her like a child. Refused to acknowledge her power, rendered impotent her ability to move me, to make me feel for her and with her and want her in return.

I kissed her. Deliberately put my arm around her, touched her face with my hand and kissed her. I didn't have to tilt her face up to mine or any romantic crap like that. I'm not that tall. She was suddenly as surprised and nervous and uncertain as if I'd smacked her with an electric cattle prod. But I still didn't walk away. After I kissed her again, she started fumbling for cool, searching for composure. How agonizing to feel that inept and vulnerable and young.

"You don't have to worry," she said eventually. "I've done this before."

I could have laughed. Didn't. Said: "You've never done this before."

"Well. Well - I want you to know I understand. I mean. I know about you and Snow and I -"

"This has nothing to do with me and Snow. This is yours."

We moved into one of the back rooms and Lorett instinctively picked up that it wasn't necessary to offer conversation, attempt to explain anything or play charades. It sounds corny, I know, but she was sweet and it was good being with her. And, yes, it turned out she had never really "done this before". There's more to it than shoving a rod in a hole, you know.

When we finished, I stayed with her a while but soon got restless. It's different for me now. Blood and love is life to me, the ultimate magic potion. I don't need to crash out after but I didn't want to walk out on her. What I wanted, of course, was to catch up with my own wishing star and scope out the evening. However, soon I get the vibe from Lorett that she wants to be alone. Just because I'm glad to go doesn't mean I don't care about her and I hope she understands that. But I still go.

Back to the stage at the Diner and the rest of the band who is hanging about griping because I am late again. But we go on and everything seems okay. Like Roxanne says, we are really hot.

After, we are sitting together, like I said, arguing about names.

"Why not call ourselves "The Band,'" Roxanne says, real ingenious. "It's direct, simple -"

"It's taken," I tell her. "That's Robbie Robertson's group."

She doesn't know them. They are after her time.

"How about Toys For Juliet?" Bel offers, hopefully fanning his eyelashes at Ramzi who fails to bite as usual. Ramzi is very shy in his mortal form.

"It's taken," Snow says, exasperated. "Toys For Juliet is a new group. I told you about them last week, Bel. ALL the good names are taken - Bauhaus, Vindictive Vixens, Christian Death, Martha's Vineyard, Flammable Jammies, Specimen, Gene Loves Jezable. All of them."

"How about Snow Loves Tony?" Roxanne offers, grinning.

I grin, too, and touch his ankle under the table with the toe of my boot. Snow jerks his leg away. It's that cattle prod effect again but this time I'm the one who's surprised.

Snow finishes the last glass of Bikavar.

"Excuse me," he says and propels off - still fairly graceful I thought - making for the gent's.

I slide out and follow after, catch up with him.

"Hey, are you okay?"

"Fine."

"Are you sure --"

"I said I'm fine."

He isn't but he doesn't want me around. He has swallowed more than his usual quota which is odd because he is so fastidious about how much he consumes of anything. Snow's a vegan which adds an even stranger note to our relationship. Rick Mallock asked him about that once but Snow just explained that he didn't have to kill me to eat me. (I think Rick was afraid Snow might have demonstrated or something because he shut up pretty fast.) Rick's never been completely comfortable around homosexuals and Snow is as gay as they get. Not swishy or anything like that, just a perfect embodiment of male and female and completely unashamed. It's a mindset, too, as spiritual as it is physical. I don't know how to describe it but if there hadn't been a name for it already, Snow would have invented it.

Snow worries me sometimes because he is so fragile. It doesn't take much for his slenderness to give over to emaciation. When he worries, when he's upset, he starves. Right before your eyes. There are times when we're together and suddenly I see how tiny he is and I'm afraid I'm going to crush him. I feel like such an ass and I pull back. And he surges forward, electric, driving me on, bringing me with him.

I'm not really with him now and that puzzles as much as it hurts. But I try to chill out. When you love so much it can lead to paranoia and craziness as much as it brings all the good stuff. So I figure I'm being oversensitive and head back to the booth. The others are waiting.

"So, are we to name the band Paradise Lost?" Bel asks.

"Don't be such a callous jerk, my dear," Roxanne says. "Remember how it turned out for your countrymen of the 'Let them eat cake' school of philosophy? You've never been where Snow is now. You came over fast like me. It's not easy, Changing like that."

"But the results are worth it, yes?" Bel says to me.

"Try to understand," I said, just thinking it out while talking. "Snow's not completely mortal now. Not completely Fae. He won't be Blood till he dies. Most of the time everything's great but sometimes he feels all that Change going on in him and it gets to him. Don't you remember what it was like to be human?"

"Please, not before I'm about to feed."

"I was a long time with Tasia before I Changed and it got to me, too. And I wasn't as psychic as Snow. He told me sometimes it's like he's tapped into the whole world mind and he can't get out."

Roxanne makes a hiss-noise and winces, sympathetic and appalled.

"I thought Nellie Dare and her people were helping him with that," she says.

"Yeah. And it's better. But it's not perfect."

"You should bring him over," Bel announces, "at once."

"Snow had a life before he met me. If he comes over, all that stops."

"You are being foolish, both of you. His life is with you now. He should come over and if he will not, you must choose for him."

"Snow will choose his own time - or not - when he's good and ready."

Bel starts to speak again and I just stare at him. He shuts up.

"You leave Snow alone, Bellamy," I tell him. "No advice. I know how you play -"

"Tony, I would never -"

"- And I will make you sorry if you try."

"I promise I will not volunteer to help Snow. But I still believe you are making a terrible mistake."

I'm not sure what to say next. Silence is better. I love Bel but I can't really trust him. Not his fault. He's got the attention span of a child. Also, a lot depends on which "Bel" you're talking to, if you can sift through the Violettas, the Mimi's, the Butterfly's, the Tosca's, the Margaretta's . . . all those protective, chameleon personalities and find BEL, then he's usually okay. But there's a lot about him that will never be right.

Eventually the others take off and I stand up to let them go. It's prowl and growl time for them, time for the Hunt. I hang on and wait for Snow.

Summer is coming to an end but crisp Autumn is taking her time winging in. Although I'm still inside the building, I can feel the elements coming together in yet another terrific boomer. There's been heat lightning zapping the sky since twilight and basso profundo getting louder. You'd almost think the Fae were brewing up a storm but I know it's nothing like that. Still, it's been a peculiar season, Spring starting off well enough then soaring all the way to boil. Nothing like the sensation of living in a bamboo steamer. Heat and cold don't affect me or my kind but I don't care for either extreme.

However, I do enjoy the light shows the thunderstorms have brought on and decide to check it out. Led Zeppelin never had these kind of pyrotechnics. Theirs were all voice and sound, the hammer of the gods. They didn't need flash. The music was enough. Snow likes Bauhaus - all the visual trappings, the glitter, the wild glam-goth. Very mystic stuff that music, like the subtlety of breath frosting a window pane. Spiky, frozen shuriken delicate enough to melt beneath your touch. I'm as subtle as a banshee wail. What he sees in me I have no idea. Why he stays eludes me. But I'm glad that he does.

I am walking towards the outside when I spot Shirley making tracks through the house. Feel her alarm before I actually see her. Shirley's part of the Dare clan, mortal, and the Mother to the house. One of the human allies who protects the border interests.

"What's the rush?" I ask.

She doesn't waste time with her announcement: "I can't find the kids."

Instant panic grabs my balls and gives them a twist. More apprehension leeches onto the back of my neck when I think that it's been just too long since Snow disappeared as well. We had trouble a while back. An evil from my past that tried to take my children, actually tried to harm them. Snow, too.

Tried is the operative word.

I push the fear away, reach for cold. Scan out the dark as dispassionately as possible. Night may hold mystery for some but she can't keep her secrets from me. She can't keep me from mine. It takes just a few heart-beat seconds to find them.

"They're okay," I tell her. "Upstairs in Snow's room."

"What are they doing in there?" she snaps.

I don't have any answers.

Thunder explodes directly overhead as we head up the stairs. It booms again when we enter the bedroom accompanied by the telltale shriek-giggle of invisible young voices. It's not Fae. Not ghosts.

They're under the bed.

"Brian, Kevin, Tricia - out!" Shirley says.

There's a quickly stifled "uh-oh" and a flurry of scrabbling. The explanation begins.

Brian: "The thunder woke us up."

Kevin: "Yeah."

Brian: "It was really loud!"

Kevin: "Yeah."

Brian: "And then Tricia came in our room. And then there was a big crash in the hall."

Kevin: "Snow fell down."

Me: "Snow fell down?"

Then I'm kneeling beside the bed saying: "Snow?"

Snow's voice floats back from the dark underneath saying: "Yes?" A polite inquiry like this was some normal, every night-type conversation.

Brian: "So we was going to help him but then there was this big thunder again -"

Kevin: "Yeah. Yeah!"

Brian: "- And we all got under the bed in Snow's old room."

Kevin nodded. Tricia was silent as usual but also nodding occasionally as she felt the need to confirm her brothers' story. Shirley began herding the kids together, moving them towards the door.

"What say we get you three back on top of the bed and you go to sleep?" she says.

"What about the thunder?" Brian asks.

"What about the thunder?" Shirley is asking. She can talk and herd simultaneously, one of her many skills. "You guys aren't scared of storms, are you?"

"It's awfully loud."

"I'll bet there were three little kids sitting up reading scary comics under the covers with the flashlight is what I bet," Shirley is saying as they move out the door. "Why don't we check it out?"

There is an ominous and guilty silence from the kids. Evidence probably still lurks beneath the sheets.

There is more ominous silence and something else beneath this bed.

"Snow," I am saying. "Are you okay?"

"Fine."

I start to ask "Are you sure?" but stop. I am beginning to sense a pattern. And I'm starting to feel annoyed.

"You're drunk," I say.

"I am not."

"You are. Come on. Let's go."

"I'm perfectly all right where I am."

Snow can be pretty stubborn. So can I.

Don't waste any more words than necessary but I lie down on the floor, manage to grab his wrists and pull him out. He is trying to make himself as heavy as possible and digging the toes of his very pointed shoes into the carpet. It is not working for him but I make a note we're going to have to replace the rug.

He is furious when I pull him out and there's a lot of color in his face. I can almost see the real red in his eyes behind his new violet contact lenses.

"How bloody macho," he says.

"Right," I say back. "Can you walk?"

He walks. He gives me a look like he'd prefer to knock my block off but wheels about on the toe of one of those vinyl spikes and charges off for the stairs instead. I am becoming more and more pissed with him by the second but even so, I've got to admire that ass. Moving. Like that. This is the major reason arguing with Snow is so much of a challenge. He can rant and rage and not lose track of the dialogue. He's the kind of person who moves around a lot when he's excited and it is so distracting. Pretty soon, I am wondering what all the confusion's about. I've been told a lot of incubus went into my makeup. I believe it. It is always difficult to concentrate on staying mad with him. I wonder if he does that on purpose.

Still, something is really bugging Snow now and I want to know what it is. So I try to calm down and lose the mad and follow him to the door. Snow throws the front door open and I almost pile into him when he comes to a dead stop. We are faced with the actual storm. Rain pouring down in sheets, impossible to see more than two hands in front of your face.

"Well," Snow begins, smug. "Obviously, we are not going out in this."

"Why not?" I say back. "Maybe it will sober you up."

And in the next second, he is up and over my shoulder and I am sloshing through the flooding mud puddles toward the bike, holding his legs real tight so he won't kick me. At first he is too surprised to do anything but then I feel him slugging a message into my ass and hear what he is yelling at me. Even muffled by the rain and thunder, I am glad no one else (like the kids) is around to listen. His accent devolves and becomes somewhat less than high brow. Damn. More mixed messages.

I put him down next to the bike and get on. We are both thoroughly soaked. Snow's hands are clenched into tiny but effective little fists and I can see his teeth grinding at me. Wet hair is streaming in his eyes but that's just as well. I start the engine. He gets on the bike behind me without uttering another word and holds onto me.

That Snow trusts me enough to ride in this storm is a more accurate reflection of what our life together is like. He does trust me. I remind myself of that even while I am racing along in the muck hoping that I will get us back to the garage in one piece. Water is not a Blood's element.

We are almost half-way there when Snow starts pounding on my back. I wonder what is going on now but I pull over anyway. He is off the bike and running before I finish the stop. He slips in the mud and stays there. I start over to help him, then skid to a stop. Hellfuck. Barf City. And more conflicting emotions but the desire for carnal gratification isn't one of them. I do try to give him a hand but he's not receptive.

"Sod off," he gasps.

And I snarl back, like an ass: "You puke with real class, sweetheart."

He flashes me the finger with its three-and-a-quarter centimeters, black polished nail and the multi-faceted gemstone ring. Then continues with a catalog of additional hand and arm gestures until we are moving again and he is obliged to hold on.

We come in out of the rain at the garage. Now there is major silence punctuated by the sound of me putting the bike away and Snow's heels clacking on the cement as he stalks across the floor and up the short flight of stairs. Then - WHAM! - the first door opens with a crash. More clacking up the rest of the flight. And - WHAM! - the door to the loft opens.

I can do this, too. 'Cept mine is more like boot-stomping up to the steps and - BAM! - the first door closes. Steps, stomp - stomp - stomp, etc. - BAM! The loft door closes.

Tomorrow, Rick and Snake are going to want to know what was going on "up there" and try to make us promise not to do it again. And I guess we will. I hope.

In the interim, we are still not speaking - verbally - but passing each other within the confines of that now too-small room. No drawer or door opens or closes without a BANG! or a CRASH! Snow is removing his soaked glad rags, meticulously arranging them on a chair by the electric fire, worrying and fussing about his shoes - a pair from the Imelda Marcos collection numbers-wise - which are ruined and placing them side-by-side near the heat, likewise, to dry out. By evening, they are going to look like freeze-dried, sequined, prehistoric newts. The difference will be that lizard fossils smell better.

On my mate's personal evolutionary scale, I am ranking some place lower than newts. I can tell from the look he gives me when I shed and toss my waterlogged rejects into a corner on my side of the space. In a blatant show of one-up-manship, I throw my boots into the wall - ONE - TWO - and let them stay where they fall. I manage to knock a dent in the paneling with one of them.

All in all, the perfect time to say: "Well, feel like talking now?"

"I am going to shower," Snow answers and disappears behind the bathroom door. This is said in a way as to suggest: "Don't wait up."

I park it in the arm chair next to the fireplace, pick up my guitar. And wait.

For a while I am aware of Snow banging around in the bath, adjusting this and that, and I cuddle my guitar and wish, even though I am frustrated and curious and semi-homicidal, that it was him sitting on my lap and snuggling up close in my arms.

I make adjustments in the tuning and riff through a series of chords. Snow's washing his hair and through the door, the aroma of his favorite scent rushes me. I shake my wet hair out of my face and toss it back, let the heat take it so it'll dry out. My fingers move with a mind of their own against the strings and I start to feel better. Pretty soon, I'm humming and singing along to keep myself company and to get my mind off - things. Played my own acoustic variations through most of the Depeche Mode Violator album which I had pretty much by heart now. One of the groups Snow and I agree on. Good writing, excellent melodies. Lyrics that mean something. To him and me.

He comes out of the bathroom eventually, all scrubbed fresh and clean. His hair is as fine as silk floss and feather-frames his face. All the make up is gone down to the enamel on his nails. The contacts are out and scarlet, albino orbs gaze at me from under thick, frost-white lashes. His eyes aren't wide, they're long. They drink you in like wine, spill you out in stardust. It must have been hell for him growing up 'cause, even before me, there's hardly anything human-looking about him. And when the make-up, the glitter and the glam is off, he is even more striking. Startling. He looks like a faerie's child, a rogue angel who parties with devils. How can anyone mortal or Fae look at him and remember to breathe?

Snow's swathed up in blue-green-black-violet velour from neck to toe. Peacock colors, worn, and made comfortable with time. He drops his gaze rather than look at me and murmurs: "It's late. I'm going to bed."

But he's got to move past me and I catch him by the knot on the belt of his robe, pull him around, gently, to face me. The garment gapes open and I'm faced with the shock of his pale skin against deep color. White heat.

We look at each other.

"I need you."

That's me talking - and meaning it. Snow's hands drop onto my shoulders and his arms lock tight, as yielding as rock.

"Tony, get a hobby, will you? Not tonight."

"That's not what I mean. I need you - not to be mad at me. What happened? Whatever's wrong, can't you tell me?"

"Nothing's wrong."

A little light begins to dawn.

"Is somebody hassling you?"

"No." A smile flirts briefly across his face. "Are you kidding? They wouldn't dare. Not after what you did to Dove and Lace."

"Talk to me."

He shrugs a little and lets his hands drop back to his sides.

"I went looking for you tonight, so you wouldn't be late again," he says, dry. "And I found you. With her."

"You saw me with Lorett?"

"Yes."

"God, Snow, is that it? Is that all?"

"Yes."

"This is crazy. You know if I only feed from you, you'll get sick. Like before. It could kill you. You know the others don't matter. It's not the same."

"Oh, really?"

"There's no crate of earth from Cleveland waiting down in the basement. Don't be an ass."

"Sorry. I thought that was one of my more appreciated features."

"You really piss me off sometimes, you know?"

"The feeling is mutual, love. Don't. Touch. Me."

Snow pulls away, wraps his arms around himself. His eyes fill and the tears just stream down his face and I don't care about anything else, all I want to do is hold him.

"You don't understand," Snow says. "I went looking for you. Like Nellie taught me. First time since . . . I opened up and went out. I thought you were safe. But you were with her. And I got trapped in it - what you were feeling, thinking, doing - all of it. And you didn't even know I was there. It was so much like . . . like when you're with me. You lied to me. They do matter to you. They do!"

"If you're lucky, they'll matter to you, too, when you come over."

"I don't want it! Not any more. I don't want to change."

"Snow -"

"You're going to leave me, aren't you? I'm going to die, going to change like you. And then you're going to leave."

"No."

"You are."

"No, never. Snow, I could never leave you."

"Make it stop, Tony. Change me back."

"I . . . I can't. Not now."

"You've got to. I can't do it. I don't want it, not alone. Not without you. Go on. Forever. Alone."

"But you're not going to be alone. I won't leave you."

"Oh yes, you will. I won't be any use to you anymore. You won't need me. You will need others."

"Is that all you think I want from you?"

"You didn't even know I was there!"

I wanted to tell him "You're wrong. You're always there." Because he is. Snow is always with me.

I wanted to just scream at him, I was so angry. And it hurt that he could feel like that.

Still, I felt the same way, too, once. With Tasia. I loved her so much and I was so certain that when I became like her, her need for me would end. It would have been better for both of us if it had.

But that was me and Tasia. Snow is different.

I am watching someone I love beyond worlds fall apart the same way I did once upon a time, back when I was mortal. He's afraid. And I want to take his Fear in my hands like I would a malignant, spiteful demon and crush it. King of the Blood, right. All powerful, right.

Ha, ha and ha.

Words are just so fucking useless sometimes. You get snared in them. They escalate. Pretty soon you're saying things you don't mean. You know you don't mean it even when it's coming out of your mouth but there it is and you can't take it back. You can't. They stick inside like little poison spurs rooting into your soul.

I stood up and took Snow's arm. He didn't like that and tried to jerk away from me again but I wouldn't let go. Brought him over to our bed and pushed him down on his back. Gods, the look on his face. The tears just kept coming even though he didn't sob or choke. Snow can put up a mask better than anyone I know. Anyone. He didn't want to be crying, didn't want me to see how much he was hurt. But it was so bad it just came out anyway.

I'm from the City. I lived in the black pit of her soul with all the murder and robbery and rape. If you've ever heard another human being scream, you got to wonder how anyone could walk away from that, turn their back and ignore it. I never could. But that doesn't make staying any less dangerous.

Snow really wants me to go, even though he is screaming inside, hurting as bad as anyone can. Still, there is more challenge than rage or contempt in his eyes. No fear. And like me, he doesn't trust himself to talk anymore either.

I pull his robe open, yank it down over his shoulders. Spread his legs out and kneel between them. His body blazes at me, so white it glows. When I touch him, my hands are shaking and I get that panicky urge again that I have to pull back 'cause it's all too much. For both of us. Then I think to myself "but he's got to know. He's got to know what I'm feeling."

In a flash, I am also wondering - maybe Bel was right. Maybe it is up to me to choose for him.

No. It's not.

I don't even kiss him. Not now. Smooth his thighs, run my hands over his hips. Don't waste time on preliminaries, just lift him up and bring him down. Shove deep into him, hold him there. Snow makes a noise like pain and something else but he's still hard so I know I didn't hurt him too much.

We are both men and our joining shouldn't be this easy but it is. We've both been broken. Destroyed. Shattered by those we loved and trusted the most. Left alone to pick up the pieces and start again. Losing bits of ourselves no matter how hard we try not to, picking up shit we'd just as soon not. Guarding what's left, just trying to keep what remains in one piece. Loose change - that's how Snow and I come together, like two halves of a broken coin. Banged up and rough around the edges but we fit.

Snow won't help now, just lies there with his hands half curled into fists on either side of his face, staring at me, and I am shuddering, buried deep inside him. His heat is nuclear and I am so cold. I move deeper, find the spot and flex. And flex. I can tell he's feeling this right because the sweat comes out and pearls his skin, still warm and humid from the shower. I want to lick it off him but no - not yet. I go deeper and this time, he moans and his legs rise on either side of me, white wings poised to soar. To fly.

So I lift him and he opens to me, arms around my neck, mouth against mine. His soul to mine. We dive into the channel together.

The rush is so intense it's like drowning. Waves overlapping each other, sensation over sensation, until we are both gasping and I am plunging into him again and again and he is riding me with his head thrown back and there are still no words, just sound. There are still tears but no pain. We're open to each other, washing in all the need and love and good stuff. Nothing hidden. Not even the ugliness. That he can know me like that and not run away . . . .

I place my mouth on his neck and the red, sweet wine of him bursts down my throat. It's not just blood, it's Snow. His life. His soul. It courses through me like flame and I drive it back into him to drink it down again. His hands knot in my hair and his knees ride up around my ribs and back. Then his face is down in the curve of my neck and his mouth opens. Closes. He drinks, too.

Snow's never done that before. Only taken what was offered.

Sometimes he's asked for it but it's never been like this and it's heaven. I don't ever want this to end.

But it does. It has to. Still, it's so hard to stop and, even when the frenzy is finished, we are still entwined in one another. He lets me lick all the sweat and blood and scattered seed off him and he does the same with me. We are still charged with each other's presence and essence. Lounging, circling each other like some kind of exotic, electric fish.

Snow's voice, the taste of black chocolate and brandy, the bite of raspberry, the texture of sun-warmed fur, floats in the top of my skull.

<. . . Cleveland . . . ?>

<I'm so sorry you were hurt> I tell him.

<. . . I wanted to surprise you, wanted to show you what I learned. I never thought - never imagined . . . .>

<You are always with me>

<I know>

<I've never lied to you>

<I know>

He holds me closer to him and I can feel how much he regrets having said that. But it's okay.

"You don't know what it's like, being with you," Snow whispers. "You don't just enter a room, Tony, you fill it. The band's got nothing to do with it. Everybody notices you. Everybody watches you. Sometimes, I can feel what they feel looking at you. How much they want you. It's scary."

<Sounds the same as what I pick up when they're looking at you>

He is buried in under my chin and I feel his words more than I hear them.

"There's no one I've ever cared about that didn't leave me. No one that didn't go. I am so afraid of losing you sometimes. I don't know why you want me but I'm awfully glad you do."

"Snow . . . I've never done this before. I've never brought anyone over. I don't want you to be hurt, I want it to be good for you. I want it to be the best."

Finally, the truth. But he just smiles at me and says: "You're always the best, Tony."

"Damn. Shit. Hell.... You scare the piss out of me, you know that?"

"You worry too much," he says and holds me hard. "Lighten up, lover. We're all right now."

I can't think of what else to say, I can only hold him back. The sun is coming up and I start to drift away and I hate it. We are so open to each other now, even with the little ghost-echoes of hurt, I don't want it to stop. I try to tell him but he already understands and is smoothing my back, comforting-like.

<You should name the band The Hunt> he tells me. <That's who you are. That's what you do.>

Sounds fine to me but it's beyond me now to tell him. I'm sinking down into the different dark of day, still aware of Snow, still holding him. Loose change doesn't always roll down the gutter and disappear. What's lost can be found again if you look hard enough. Believe. Could even turn out to be someone's lucky penny. Or wishing star.

The sun rises. Soon I've no outside sensation at all. I've no choice but to go within and wait again for the Night. And Snow.

Ah.

There he is.

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