Disclaimer: All concepts and belong to the ever-brilliant L.J. Smith, and are used here without permission for non-profit entertainment. I may scratch up your toys a little, Lisa, but they'll have a lot of fun. All the characters in this story, oddly enough, are mine, but if you ask real sweetly and offer me a cookie, I'll probably let you play with them.

Spoilers: Basic Night World concepts, no actual books.

Rating: PG (Mild violence)

They had married out of convenience and fear, although neither one of them would admit it later. A month before graduation they'd ended up at a party together, Mark drunk and Kerry-Anne distressed, and when he said, "Let's get married," she said, "Okay."

The Nevada church where they tied the knot was not as tacky as television had led them to believe it might be. Kerry-Anee's best friend loaned her a blue dress that set off her red hair and Mark managed to stumble into a sports coat for the dawn ceremony. Out in the field behind the church, sober but no wiser, they exchanged simple vows and twenty-five dollar pawn-shop rings, and the sun's first rays shone down on their dew-sweetened kisses.

It was insane, of course. Kerry-Anne's father had finally succumbed to cancer three days earlier and she was in no state to be making life altering-decisions. Mark had just learned that his idiot brother had blown his entire college fund on the ponies and knew he had little to constitute a future. They didn't love each other--hell, they barely knew each other. But they were both willing. And they were both terrified of being alone.

Four years later, all Kerry-Anne's fears--that they were doing it for the wrong reasons, that it wouldn't last, that they would forever scar each other--had been put to rest. She had fallen in love with her husband.

He didn't know, of course, and she'd never found the courage to tell him. The feeling had sneaked up on her, starting with a simple yet sudden awareness of his presence, an urge to do little kindnesses for him. Then it had blossomed into a complex barrage of questions she wanted to ask, as if she were trying to pry his brain open and look inside. She started flirting with him, touching him frequently, all the while wondering what was going on with her. They had been married for years, this wasn't a honeymoon.

In the end, the same friend who had loaned Kerry-Anne a wedding dress pointed out the problem. "You're crazy about him. Sure, you've been living with him for a while, but you're just now really falling hard for him."

After the conversation, she felt a sick and illogical sadness. Was anything she felt reciprocated? Their lives together were pleasant and convenient, but did he love her the way she loved him? From then on she felt a distance sliding between them, not helped any by the frequent fights they had over her profession.

She had dinner waiting when he got home, chicken noodle soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. "Hey, sweets," he said, wrapping an arm around her and kissing the top of her head. "My god, you cooked."

She couldn't really cook anything besides TV dinners, Mark had all the culinary skills, but he always came home on Fridays worn out from the week's classes and would usually fall asleep rather than make himself something.

"It's not much."

"Smells like heaven. Let me dump these books in the bedroom."

Kerry-Anne poured two glasses of milk and they sat down together a minute later. "How was school?" she asked.

"Freid's going senile, I think. He forgot to show up at all this morning, so class was canceled. Nice relief, actually, but I feel sorry for the guy."

"Have you talked to the Dean?"

"Yeah, she doesn't know what to do. He's tenured, they can't really fire him."

Mark was a student at the local college, majoring in architecture. He was too passionate to sit in class all day, so Kerry-Anne counted it as a blessing that he would be graduating in a new months.

They'd agreed from the start on a plan. They had the same goals--go to college, get decent jobs, then and only then start thinking about kids. Since they were both broke except for the six hundred dollars Kerry-Anne made when she sold her father's piano, they couldn't both afford to start schooling again at the same time. Unfortunately, after four months, they were already behind on the rent with Kerry-Anne working full-time and then some at a Hallmark shop.

They'd been having a fight down by the river, yelling at each other across the silent streets of three a.m., when they were attacked by three vampires. A frightened elderly couple was chasing them. Kerry-Anne hadn't thought before she acted, she grabbed the old man's gun and started firing.

They'd given her money afterward. A lot of money. And Kerry-Anne realized she'd found the solution to her problem.

At seven-fifteen, she rose from the table and put her dishes in the sink. "I'll get those later," she said, "don't worry about them."

"That's okay," Mark told her. "It's my turn." He frowned. "Are you working tonight?"

"Yeah. I should go get dressed."

"I thought you were going to finish this job last night."

"I was, didn't happen. It's no big deal, I'll get her tonight."

He followed her into the bedroom and watched her change into a pair of black jeans and a matching turtleneck. "Don't keep glaring at me like that," she told him finally, "just say it."

"I hate your job."

Kerry-Anne smiled. "Thanks for the input, I'll keep it in mind."

"This is so insane."

"Have you looked at the account balance lately?"

"I don't care how much you're making, this is crazy."

"Well, I care. I'm going to college on that money next year."

She had already been accepted into the fine arts department. The deal was that Mark would get his B.A., and then she would get hers, and if they decided they wanted more schooling after that, they'd discuss it. The only reason Mark got to go first was that he would probably have an easier time finding a job as an architect than she would as a jewelry maker.

Mark leaned against the door jamb, hazel eyes slanted. Kerry-Anne settled her rifle into its guitar case with loving care, checking to make sure all her attachments and bullets were inside. If she appeared unaware of Mark's displeasure, she wasn't, but they'd had this fight before.

Gloves, boots, she pulled her hair back and checked herself over. Everything was there, from the unusually heavy guitar case to the long silver knife hidden in her right pant leg.

"What time will you be home?" Mark asked unhappily.

"Depends. By dawn, obviously."

He nodded and then met her gaze. "You know I can't sleep without you here."

Kerry-Anne smiled and kissed him. "Don't wait up," she said, and headed for the front door.

It was just past dusk when Wink finally found the shop. "There!" he hollered, and swung the steering wheel so fast that the mammoth RV flew up on two wheels. Key screamed, tumbling out of the passenger's seat and nearly landing in his lap.

"You trying to tell me something?" she demanded.

Wink laughed and helped her up. "Sorry," he said, as he parked the vehicle in three full spots.

Key brushed her hair and put on some lip gloss while Wink rustled around in the bedroom. He came out with an armload of musty-smelling books, pressing his chin against the top of the tower to keep it from falling. "Ready?" he asked.

She helped him down the steep steps and into the parking lot. "I'm going to run over to that gas-station and get some stuff to eat. You want anything?"

"You mean you don't find dumb-book-selling mumbo, jumbo interesting?" Wink asked, chuckling at her. "Sure, pick me up a couple more moon pies."

"You and those moon pies," she muttered, turning away. "All right, I'll meet you back here."

Wink walked slowly into the dingy shop, carefully balancing his books, and gently pushed the door open. "Mitch?" he called. "You in here or just stupid enough to leave your shop door open with all the lights on?"

"That you, Wink?"

"Sure is."

"Come on in the back here, my legs are giving me trouble."

Wink made his way between the archaic book shelves carved from heavy oak and the equally monstrous velvet chairs that filled the shop. Mitch was sitting in the back room, small and frail in his Lay-Z-Boy recliner. Despite his appearance, when he spoke his voice was strong and steady. "How've you been, m'boy?"

Wink plunked into one of the nearby chair and set his books on the desktop. "Pretty good, Mitch. How about you?"

"Can't complain. Did you bring that pretty girlfriend of yours?" he asked, peering over Wink's shoulder.

Wink smiled indulgently. "Key's over at the gas station getting us some munchies for the trip."

"Ah. What have you got there? Looks like a first edition Twain to me."

His smile grew as they began their book-talk. "That it is, Mitch. Sure enough."

Key waited to make sure Wink had gone into Mitch's shop before approaching the trucker. "Hey, honey," she called through the open passenger's door. Her face was practically level with the floor. "You looking for some company?"

The trucker, a long lean fellow with a wedding band, looked her up and down before nodding. "How much?"

"Just twenty five."

"I'll give you twenty."

"Okay. You want to do it in here?"

He nodded and she climbed into the cab of the truck, which smelled like stale tobacco and Little Debbie snacks. She made a mental note to pick up some Twinkies at the gas station as she slid across the seat.

She put her hand on the trucker's shoulder and watched him fumble with his belt. While he was looking down, she sank her fangs into his neck.

They met up at the RV a little later. Key had two bags of food and had restocked the fridge with beer and juice. Wink was so pleased by the new books he'd purchased that he didn't even notice how her lip gloss was stained slightly red.

The storm broke over Ivy Hills just past midnight, complete with shattering lightening and cringing thunder. Kerry-Anne arrived home at one-fifteen and was greeted by Mark at the door. "Here," he said shortly, offering a candle. "Power went out an hour ago."

"Thanks." She put her gear on the floor and watched him walk away without so much as a hello. Such body language in his hands, tight around the candles. "Do you really want to have a fight now?" she called down the hallway. "When we don't even have any lights?"

"Yes," he shouted from the bedroom. "I've had all night to stew."

"I told you to go to bed."

"Well, I told you to get a different job."

They fought fairly frequently. Not out of hate or unhappiness, just because it was part of their relationship, and a way for them to strip away the outer layers and grow closer. "Just peeling an onion," Mark always said.

He was sitting on the bed, knees drawn up to his chest, when Kerry-Anne entered. A dozen candles were set around the room, on pieces of furniture and the window sills. "Well?" Mark said.

She sighed and sat down on the edge of the desk chair to unlace her boots. "Aren't you tired? Why can't we talk about it in the morning?"

"I'm too tense and angry to sleep."

He waited while she eased out of her black clothes and into an old sleep-shirt. "I don't think it's just about the money for you," he said.

"Oh, that's right, I get a kick out of the violence. I like hiding in trash cans and coming home half frozen and smelling like gun-powder. It's the American dream."

She reached for a brush and started working the tangles out of her thick amber hair.

"You joke," Mark said, "but I'm half serious. I think you do get a kick out of the violence."

"What?" She paused in her brushing and glanced at him.

He shrugged and said slowly, "Sometimes, in bed....well, you get a little rough."

Kerry-Anne felt herself choke between laughter and outrage. "What?!" she cried.

"I'm not saying you're like a dominatrix or anything," Mark told her quickly, "but I don't know any other couples who actually roll right out of bed at least once a month."

"And you're assuming that's all me? What about when you bit my shoulder open a while back?"

"That was not my fault! You rolled on top of my mouth-"

Kerry-Anne put a hand up. "Just stop already, this isn't going to get us anywhere. I do not get off on killing things, Mark, and that's that. Frankly, I resent the implication. You make me sound like a Satan-worshiper."

"That's not what I mean. I don't think you like the killing itself, but I think you kind of enjoy putting on all your espionage clothes and going out into back alleys and nightclubs and being all dangerous. I live here, I've seen the way you fondle those guns."

She gave him a look and said dryly, "I was cleaning them."

"Fine, but you sure put a lot of time and thought into it."

"The last thing we need right now is for me to neglect keeping them clean so that they rust and I have to buy new ones. You know how much those cost?"

"That's not the issue, Kerry."

She got up from the chair and pulled an old robe out of the closet. "It's freezing in here," she muttered, and Mark fitted her sheep-sheer booties onto her feet after she sat down beside him.

"Maybe....maybe I do like the double life of it a little," she admitted. "Yes, it does give me a thrill to sneak around with my guns. And I am proud of how careful I am, how accurate. Why shouldn't I be?"

The Night World called her Heartshot, because she always sent one round directly into the heart, and she never missed, and she never shot twice. She waited until the perfect shot was lined up, even if it meant trailing her target around for a month first.

"You should be proud," Mark said. "I guess. I mean, I'm kind of proud of the way you handle all this stuff. But it's too dangerous to be worth the excitement or the money."

"We need that money."

"We've got more than enough to pay for your tuition, and John said he was sure his agency would hire me this summer, so that will take care of the apartment and food and stuff. We don't need to be rich."

"I'm not talking about rich, I'm talking about long term plans. We both hate this apartment, and if we're going to be here for another four years, we may as well buy a house. You know how much interest banks charge on house loans? Like twenty percent or something. That means if we buy a twenty thousand dollar house with a twenty year loan, by the time we've paid it off we'll have spent twenty-four thousand dollars. And you know what you can get for twenty thousand? Not a whole lot. If we take the money I've made and buy a house flat out with no banks involved, do some minor fixer-upper jobs on it, and sell it in five years, it could have doubled in value, and that money is ours to keep."

Mark was listening intently. "How long have you been thinking about this?"

"A while, I guess. I don't know, it just seems like the logical thing to do. And what if we have kids? It costs like two million dollars to raise a kid, and that isn't including college. Even if we don't, what are we going to retire on?"

She flopped back against the headboard, suddenly worn out. Mark put his arm around her shoulder. "Maybe you're right," he said, his voice softer. "We really only have one shot at life, don't we? One chance to make it all work, so we better not blow it. You've got this all planned out, and everything sounds so solid, the only thing I can think of to be mad about is that you didn't talk to me about earlier."

"It's not like I already bought a house or anything," she told him. "This stuff's just been running through my head."

"But Kerry, I still worry about you. This is such a dangerous job, and those vamps are a lot stronger than you are."

She chuckled and let herself lean against him.

"Just promise me one thing. No matter how much you think we need the money, or what good you think you can accomplish with it, promise me you won't ever take a job you think you might not make it out of."

She closed her eyes. There was a time during every job when she thought she might not make it out, when she imagined the worst and felt threads of panic closing around her throat. Perhaps those times were inevitable, though, Mark didn't understand that.

"I promise not to take any jobs I think are too hard for me to do, or will put me in unnecessary jeopardy," she said, satisfying them both.

"Thank you." The storm was still raging outside, water causing the loose window panes to rattle in their frames.

"You put towels under the windows, didn't you?"

"Sure did. In the kitchen, too."

"I love you."

He kissed her hair. "It only took a minute."

"No, I mean, I love you." She twisted away to look at him squarely. "When we got married I didn't love you. We were friends, and I liked you. But now I seriously love you."

Mark stared at her and then broke into a smile. "Oh Kerry," he said, and she allowed him to gather her up in his arms. "I seriously love you, too."

A profound heat ran through her chest and she discreetly wiped away tears. They curled together in the candle light and slept.

"I love it out here," Wink said, stretching out on the inflatable mattress next to Key.

"Me, too," she agreed. "Candied peanuts?"

"Don't mind if I do."

There was a fire burning near the head of the mattress, and blankets spread haphazardly over them. Wink was wearing pants and a heavy sweater, but Key still had on her shorts and tee-shirt from earlier. She never seemed to get cold.

"The stars are gorgeous," she said. "You can't see them like this anywhere besides the desert."

"I know. There's Orion's belt."

They held hands under the covers, feeding each other Cheetoes and spiced jellydrops. The desert was gently alive around them, a sandy wind blowing up occasionally from which they hid their eyes and covered their food. Stars glowed, and the moon was larger than Wink had seen in years, since his grandfather had been alive, all pale and faintly scarred with gray.

"Wink?" Key asked.

"Yeah?"

"I need to tell you something."

He looked at her, the delicate features and beautiful gray eyes. Her face held gentle appraisal of everything it faced, but he only saw love reflected when she looked at him.

"Okay," he agreed.

"I'm a vampire."

Wink let his head roll back so that he could look at the sky again. It never occurred to him that she might not be telling the truth, that this might be a joke. Key never joked. She was a vampire. A blood sucker. A monster. Undead. Unloving.

"Are you going to kill me?" he asked, and Key started crying.

"God, no, Wink, never. I only drink blood once in a while, and I never kill anybody."

He pulled her close and she cried against his chest. "It's okay, Key," he said. "It's all right. I know you're a good person."

He had known she was a vampire, too. Deep down inside, all the late nights and funny flushes and incredible strengths hadn't gone unnoticed. He just hadn't wanted to shatter their perfect lives.

"I'm sorry," Key said, drying her face on his shirt.

He nodded and tucked the blanket around her shoulders. "There's no need to be sorry," he told her. No wild assurances, no heartfelt explanations, but she knew what he meant.

Shaking with relief, she opened a moon pie and hand-fed it to him. They didn't talk about it again.

Kerry-Anne stood in the shadowy corner of the balcony, letting her eyes drift over the crowd below. It was hot up here near the ceiling, whiffs of damp air rising from the dancing mob below, and Kerry allowed herself to be gently hypnotized by the flickering lights. She was bored and anxious to get home, ready for Aurora to leave the club and enter a dark alley from which Kerry-Anne could easily shoot her. She wanted to be done with this job, go home and get paid.

She'd spent all morning in bed with Mark, and when they finally got up around noon, their bodies sweet and sticky, they impulsively went house hunting. Mark was deliciously impulsive, that was part of what made life with him so constantly interesting.

Snapping out of her thoughtful lull, Kerry-Anne realized that Aurora had vanished from the crowd. Eyes darting, she located her again, this time ascending the stairs to the wrap-around balcony that ran near the ceiling of the club. Hmm, Kerry-Anne thought, reaching into the deep pocket of her trench coat to check a small gun. I wonder if anyone would notice if she just went down suddenly.

There were a few people on the long balcony, not many, and most were in pairs huddled between shadows, making out or lighting up. If Kerry-Anne fell to the floor curled around Aurora, they wouldn't think it strange.

Aurora Feather was one of those tall, long-legged vampires dressed in black leather and white fur. Her ear lobes glittered with diamonds and she stalked along the floor. Kerry-Anne eased her hand back into her pocket and gently held the gun, taking a few steps toward her target.

She noticed a couple standing against the railing, staring downward, and worried that they might be close enough to hear the shot, even with the silencer. Her employers paid her for her discretion, she'd have to wait until Aurora's proximity to witnesses had been lessened.

Suddenly a new element entered the picture. A young man, a year or two older than Kerry-Anne, strode to Aurora's side and slid an arm around her. They kissed, Aurora patting this fellow's butt through his white jeans, and in a flash of the disco ball Kerry-Anne saw fangs sliding forth.

There was a moment when she began to consider how wise this was, but it lasted only a blink before she was rushing forward and shoving the guy violently away.

"Get off my man!" she hollered at Aurora, reaching out and giving her a shove.

Aurora hissed, but Kerry-Anne pretended not to notice the fangs. "You little bit-"

Kerry-Anne lashed out with one leg, catching Aurora in the stomach, and then they were rolling on the floor, clawing and scratching at each other. Kerry-Anne was using all her strength just to stay alive, and Aurora was too busy being mad to worry about killing in public.

"Break it up!" a female voice yelled. "Come on!"

Kerry-Anne managed to get Aurora's head firmly between her hands and began pounding it against the metal floor. A shiver of warmth ran down her spine, the sensation utterly out of place in the midst of this cat fight, and she wondered if she was bleeding perhaps. A long fingernail sank into the side of her stomach like a nail being driven in, and she growled low and reached for the gun in her pocket. Not to shoot, but to threaten.

The heat came again, this time on her shoulder, and the world went black for a moment. Images flashed inside her, of a guy she didn't recognize, of a voice she longed to hear.

The nail twisted and Kerry-Anne tore out a chunk of Aurora's hair before arms wrapped firmly around her waist and pried them apart like two pieces of stubborn Velcro.

Aurora scrambled forward along the floor, still anxious for revenge, and two body guards tackled her. Knowing she would be putting her vampire status on display is she fought, she sent Kerry-Anne one last look and stalked away.

Kerry-Anne felt the heat creep up her face and her knees buckled. She collapsed back into strong arms and the scent of vanilla perfume, vision shifting and separating faster than she could follow.

"She's bleeding," someone said, and the voice was beautiful, thick and low, and subtle like the wind. Kerry-Anne groaned and reached out, only to find her hand clasped in that pervading warmth that had touched her twice during the fight.

She shuddered and saw him again, this time crouching in front of her. "Oh," he said.

"Wink?" the woman who was holding Kerry-Anne up asked.

"Oh god," Wink said.

Kerry-Anne closed her eyes to stop the spinning but found that she could still see him. Even more unsettling, she could feel him.

He was all browns and oranges, sweet eyes like mahogany and hair the same, lips and skin darkened by the desert sun, a heart as subtle as burnt sienna, drawing from some secret source of moisture deep down inside like a desert flower. Streaks of green and blue and dazzling purple washed through him, his....writing? No, books. The books his grandfather had given him, that they had shared with their tiny smiles and soft acquisitions, that wonder passed on from one hand to another.

She felt a pierce suddenly, in the part of her brain that connected to her throat, and jerked her hand away. "Who are you?" Wink asked.

"Who are you?" she shot back. Her hand was vibrating like the time she'd accidently touched a live wire.

"Wink?" the woman said again, gently leaning Kerry-Anne against the balcony railing.

"I'm okay," Wink said.

"What's wrong?"

Wink shook his hand a few times and then touched Kerry-Anne's leg as if to test and make sure it didn't happen again. It did, of course.

"Oh!" she breathed, as some part of herself melded with him. He, himself, whatever it was that made him him, was there in front of her, running through her body like blood. She understood him completely, how he saw this, his reluctance to be here, and even stronger dislike of fighting. He was here as a favor, to the woman, Key, because he knew she wanted him here. This was a vampire club, he had to see. His acceptance meant everything to her, if he didn't go they'd fall apart.

His essence moved away at Kerry-Anne's presence, trying to slip just out of her reach. Don't, she told him. I'm trying to understand.

But he kept gliding off no matter how she coaxed, and she understood that it wasn't anger or fear that kept him away, but the way he was. He cherished his space, cringed to hear matters of the heart spoken of openly.

I need to "talk about this," Kerry-Anne said, half in his mind and half aloud as he pulled away again.

Key's face had gone hard.

"I don't want to talk," Wink whispered. "Come on, Key, let's go."

He started to pull her away and she shook him off. "No."

"Key?"

"She's hurt, she needs medical attention."

Kerry-Anne shook her head. "What's going on?" she asked. "Are you psychic or something?"

"Nothing's going on," Wink told her, his voice low but firm. He started to walk away again and Key grabbed his arm.

"Wink, stop. You don't understand what this is."

His eyes, as deep and dusty as the lands he loved, flashed. "I don't want to understand." When she didn't reply, he said, "Walk away, Key. Walk away with me."

Kerry-Anne watched silently as Key glanced at him and then away. She held out a hand and helped Kerry-Anne off the floor, wrapping an inhumanly strong arm around her waist.

"Let's go," she said.

"Key!" Wink turned away and ran a hand through his hair. Kerry-Anne wanted to demand an explanation but had suddenly noticed that there was a particular kind of pain in her right ankle that ground when she put pressure on it. Aurora must had gotten her head as some point, she was dizzy and the room looked like a fuz mural.

Key helped her down the stairs, and a moment later Wink followed them. Through the club, between tightly packed bodies, with sweat stinging her eyes, Kerry-Anne managed to keep her consciousness intact. "You need to lay down," Key said, and opened the door of a large beige RV taking up half the parking lot.

Tripping on the steps up, she fell face down on the floor. She realized she'd forgotten her purse inside the club just before she passed out.

Her audacity frightened him. Her forthright speech, her willingness to tear open wounds, her candicy, shocked and stunned him. Her movement and speed and vibrancy were miracles to him.

Wink sat in the RV's booth, starring at the moon pie laid before him and shuddered. Key was sitting on the couch, silent and stoic, and the girl was unconscious in the bedroom.

"I'll drive to the hospital," Wink said, breaking the silence that had filled the room for the last hour. "We can drop her off there."

"No," Key told him simply.

Key knew. She'd touched his arm while he was touching Kerry-Anne, while the thing had been running through him, and she knew. He had been with Key for two years. Two simple years, living in the RV, working the book trade, enjoying nights out under the desert sky.

He didn't want this stranger to screw that up.

"The police, then," he suggested. Key shook her head, and Wink threw his hands up. "What do you want me to do? If she wakes up, this is just going to get bigger and change things even more."

"It's already changed things. You can't just forget something like this."

"Why not?" he cried, and Key sat back as if stung.

"Because you'll never forgive yourself if you do."

Wink felt his chest constrict. "You talk about this like it's the end."

Key didn't answer, and he felt a sick dread rise up inside him.

"Hello?" Kerry-Anne called weakly from the bedroom.

"We're out here," Key called back. "How are you feeling?"

There was some shuffling and Kerry-Anne stumbled down the hall. "I think I'll live. What time is it?"

"A little after one in the morning."

Wink held his balled fists under the table, appalled at the polite and almost friendly manner Key spoke to Kerry-Anne in. Is this her sick way of leaving me? he wondered. Is she going to convince herself that there's someone better for me to justify going?

And then an even worse thought struck him: Is there someone better for me?

He glanced at Kerry-Anne again. She had red hair and an open, expressive face framing green eyes. Her hands were quick, and she could have afforded to lose ten pounds, but then who couldn't? Her manner was direct, he cringed to imagine what she might say next, how cutting it might be.

"Can I use the phone?" she asked instead. "I should probably get a ride home, I'm in no shape to drive."

"You're welcome to stay here for the night," Key told her, and Wink involuntarily sucked in a deep breath. "And I think you'd probably like a chance to talk about what happened earlier."

Kerry-Anne's eyes flittered between them, and Wink realized she was afraid. Not of them physically, but of what might happen if she stayed.

"My husband's expecting me home," she said softly.

Key tilted her head slightly to one side.

Kerry-Anne added, "But not for a few hours."

When she had them sitting knee to knee on the folded out couch, Key told them to close their eyes. "Take a few deep breaths, get comfortable. Any time you want, we can stop. Just say the word."

Wink almost spoke up right then; if silence hadn't been so strongly in his nature he would have. This is for Key, he thought, do it for her.

Kerry-Anne had readily agreed to the experiment, telling them, "I can't go home to Mark knowing there's something still here. It would just be wrong."

Wink took a deep breath and felt his body relax a little. "Now lift your right arm up a few inches," Key instructed, and he felt her cool--almost unnaturally so--hand glide his until it brushed against tingling flesh.

Kerry-Anne wrapped her fingers around his and a current started up between them. Key's words, whatever they were, faded away and he reminded himself not to pull back. It wasn't as hard as he had expected; Kerry-Anne's mind invited him warmly.

He drifted through her memories, gathering pieces of her as he went along. There were no recollections of a mother, just her beloved father, Tat, and herself in a crumbling house. They were poor but happy, Tat was good to her, believed in her, never chastised her for her fiery emotions. His sweetness had been her rock and her sanctuary, her guardian angel.

She had grown up hopelessly passionate about everything, and paid for it with a million heartaches and sadnesses, been granted moments of true joy. Her honesty, brutal though it was, stunned Wink, fascinated him. She lived her life so differently from him, rushing headfirst into every experience rather than arranging her schedule for anonymity.

The pain she'd suffered when her father died was immeasurable. The floor had simply dropped out from under her, even though she had known it was going to. The house became massively empty in a matter of moments. She turned and turned but Tat was no longer behind her.

And then Wink saw him. He was startled by the first wave of jealousy, angered by the second. What was this, admiration for her he was feeling? So much that he couldn't help wanting her nearer?

The third wave touched him with simple truth. He loved this girl. In a flash he understood her completely, all her fears, all her frivolities, all her frankness. How could he help but love something he knew so intimately? How could he stop himself from seeing the wonder in her?

Wink?

Her voice came into his mind.

I'm here. He turned his attention to her, and found his own memories scattered about, each one having been plundered by her mercilessness.

He'd grown up with his grandparents, living in this RV. His grandmother had been a selfish woman who eventually left, and his grandfather had been a no-nonsense man who loved his books. Wink--his real name was Samuel, Kerry-Anne was pleased to discover--had been brought up to appreciate the classics.

He had no birth certificate, no social security number. He paid no taxes and he never voted. The government wasn't even aware that he existed, and he liked it that way. Maybe twenty people knew he was alive at all, most of them book sellers who dealt in rare first-editions. He was honest in his business but shady in his life, staying always out of the spotlight.

But why stay away? Kerry-Anne asked. There's a whole world out there, full of people...

She stopped, understanding in her instant vision of him that he would hate the cities, all the people, all the questions. His life would not have been truly his own there.

You live for yourself, and no one else.

Wink turned to Mark again, only able to see him as Kerry-Anne did, the genuine smile, the brilliant fights, the thousand kindnesses he had preformed during the first weeks of their marriage when she had been over-wrought by her father's death. Images from last night and this morning came quickly to the surface, still fresh in Kerry-Anne's mind, all the words they had whispered, such flourishing and flowery protestations of love that Wink couldn't help wondering if this man was an architect or a poet.

Kerry-Anne pulled away a little, embarrassed not by Wink's witnessing, but by his amusement. He felt the pain instantly, as if it were his own, and apologized with a shower of wordless emotion, a communication he didn't understand and didn't need to. There was beauty in her relationship with Mark, its intensity intrigued and horrified Wink.

Kerry-Anne seemed to feel the same way about his relationship with Key. I don't understand, she said, only Wink sensed her thoughts rather than hearing them. You never speak to each other, you never bare your souls. How do you connect?

Wink turned slowly and opened up the memories to her, of their subtle signs of affection, of the tiny ways in which Key assured him that she loved him. Kerry-Anne peered at the memory of the night before and Key's admission that she was a vampire and said, aghast, But didn't you have a million questions?

She was able to see the beauty in it, the same way Wink found beauty in her marriage to Mark, and the emotions, so vibrantly colored, so intensely felt, came pouring over him. I see, she whispered. I see and I understand. Your life is wonderful, it's different and strange and magical.

Thank you, he whispered, and knew she had seen more deeply inside him in a moment than anyone ever had in his lifetime.

Key was sitting in the bedroom, crying, when Kerry-Anne woke up. She disentangled herself from Wink's arms, stunned, horrified, and comforted by finding herself there, and walked cautiously to the bedroom doorway.

"Key?" she asked hesitantly. "Are you okay?"

Key lifted her head with dignity. The dampness only made her face more beautiful, accenting her wide eyes and perfect skin. "I'm fine."

Kerry-Anne reached hesitantly for her shoes, which had been left at the foot of the bed. "I have to get going, Mark was expecting me home by dawn."

Key nodded. "That vampire you were going to kill last night-"

"How did you know?"

"I saw you watching her, and I felt the gun in your pocket. You shouldn't have gone after her in a public place, but never mind. Aurora and I are old enemies, I can show you where to find her."

Kerry-Anne let her weight fall back against the wall. "What is this?" she asked, groaning. "You should be sneering at me and furious and kicking me out of your house. Don't you know what kind of threat I am?"

"I know."

"I could be in love with your boyfriend, get it? I may already be in love with him. There's a good chance we're going to run off together in the next couple of days, and where will that leave you? Why aren't you angry? Why aren't you hurt?"

"I am angry," Key said in her level tone. "But being rude to you won't make this go away. It just has to be dealt with."

"You can't haggle with God," she snapped, and turned away suddenly. There were tears in her eyes that stung like venom.

"Kerry?" Wink asked from the other room. Whatever it is in me that wants him so badly, she thought, let it die.

"I have to go," she called, struggling to keep her voice strong.

"Meet me back here tonight at nine," Key said softly, "and I'll take you to Aurora."

"Kerry-Anne?" Wink asked again, and she heard him getting up. Kerry-Anne reached for the door and was gone by the time he reached the bedroom.

Mark was on the phone when she entered the apartment. "Hon?" he called, rushing out of the living room. "Thank God, she's here Jimmy. It even looks like she's in one piece."

Kerry-Anne stood stiffly while Mark wrapped his arms around her, and sensing it, he pulled back, unsure. She waited while he read her face, letting herself notice how bloodshot his eyes were. He must have been up all night waiting for her.

"Kere?" he asked.

One hand was still on her hips, and she almost leaned into it before her mind flashed on Wink. A surge of something forbidden rose up in her, something hot and sweet and endlessly comforting. She felt her dull expression crumple and reached for the phone as a measure of self-defense.

"Jimmy?" she asked. Jimmy Lane was her agent, so to speak, he booked hits for her.

"Hey, where've you been? Your husband's been calling me all morning, and Vince says Aurora's still walking."

"Yeah, it didn't work out last night. But I've got a good tip on where she's staying, so I think tonight will go better."

"You've been on this case an awful long time, Kerry. Everything okay?"

She sniffled and then covered it up with a cough. "Have I ever let you down, Jimmy?"

"No."

"And have I ever botched a case?"

"No."

"And have you ever lost a cent on me?"

"No."

Hardening her voice, she growled, "Then shut the hell up," and turned the phone OFF.

Mark was standing in the kitchen doorway, watching her with heavy-lidded eyes. "What's going on?" he said, and his tone was hard as onyx, and just as black.

Kerry-Anne stared at him a moment, let her eyes stray to the wedding band he was wearing, with the inscription the last owner had worn, "Bluebird," still beaten into the metal. The apartment--their apartment--smelled of the coffee he must have been drinking for the last six hours, and the light bulbs burned hot from long use.

"I met someone," she heard herself say, as if from a distance. Her voice was weak and confused, as she was. "I think he's my soulmate. We have a mysterious telepathic connect and I spent the night in his RV."

Mark stepped back, twice, into the kitchen. Then he turned away, letting the old-style saloon double doors swing shut behind him. In the brief flash before he vanished Kerry-Anne saw his face lift in absolute shock, and his stomach pull in with pain.

"Mark!" she said, lunging after him. "It's not what you think."

"It's not?" He took a bowl from the cupboard, one of the ugly and chipped ones Kerry-Anne refused to replace, and smashed it in the sink. "What happened? Yesterday you loved me, today you're moving into some guy's RV?"

"This is not some cheap affair," Kerry-Anne told him, watching as he selected another dish. This was a gray place with Bugs Bunny painted on the center that she knew he had always hated. He broke it over his knee, then dropped the halves to the floor and jumped up and down on them. "Okay? It's like some kind of magical thing I can't control. We probably wouldn't even get along, except that every time I touch him it's like I'm melting into his mind."

Mark's eyes flashed toward her again. "And I'm sure that wasn't just a side effect of the sex."

"We didn't have sex, Mark. I was in a fight and he was trying to pull me out!"

Now he looked even angrier. "You were in a fight?"

He reached for another plate and she said, "You're not your mother, Mark, you can tell me when you're mad. You don't have to break every dish in the house."

He slammed the cupboard door shut hard enough to rattle the china within. "Fine, I'm mad, Kerry. I'm more than mad, I'm furious. This is why I didn't want you to keep doing this job. This is why I kept begging you to quit. Because I knew that one of these days, it would destroy us. Here you are, under the spell of some weird vampire who's convinced you that you're Divinely destined for each other, and probably says you were lovers in a past life or something and you'll never be complete without each other now, and you believe him."

"He's not a vampire," Kerry-Anne said. "He's just a human. He deals in rare books."

Mark headed past her for the kitchen door, out into the living room and down the hall. Trying to keep him from breaking anything else, she followed. "He doesn't even have a decent job? What is it about this guy that you're so attracted to?"

"I told you, this isn't about us personally. We can't help how we feel, it just happened. Even Wink's girlfriend admits it isn't our fault."

"What!?"

Mark spun from the closet to stare at her again. "You're leaving me for a rare book dealer name Wink who lives in an RV, all because his girlfriend thinks you should?"

Kerry-Anne collapsed back onto the bed. "I'm not leaving you, Mark. At least, not now." She rubbed her side, feeling the tender skin around the wounds Aurora's nails had left. "I don't know what I'm doing."

"Well, I'm leaving you." Mark stopped throwing clothes into the duffle bag he'd retrieved from the closet and sat down beside her. All the fury left him in a long, shuddering breath. "What happened?" he asked miserably. "I thought...."

"I still love you," Kerry-Anne whispered. "But I love this guy, and I don't know how to make that stop."

Mark nodded, clenched his teeth, and stood up. He threw his text books into the bag and zipped it up before saying, "I'll be at John's."

Kerry-Anne didn't stop him as he walked out the door.

"I don't really keep in touch with the Night World much," Key said, sitting across from Wink in the RV booth. Sunlight from the picture window fell over her pale arms and the cup of thick coffee in her hands like living warmth.

"A friend of mine said a while back that people were rebelling, that this old underground group called Circle Daybreak was starting up again. People and their soulmates were going to try to save the humans. I didn't think anything of it. Vamp kids grow up telling stories about soulmates the way human kids read Harlequin romances; it would be wonderful, but it won't really happen."

She fell silent, and Wink watched the way her fingers tightened around the china mug. Piano hands, he thought, though she had told him that she'd never learned to play.

"If you leave with her," Key said abruptly, "I won't blame you."

He went about his business as usual for most of the morning, then gave up and told Key he was going to take a walk. This was her worst time of day; she was curled up in the shuttered bedroom, safe from the sunlight.

The desert climbed all around him, cacti thirty feet high and covered in spikes long enough to run him through, low-laying plants with prickles that gripped his pant legs as if to hold him back. An armadillo scuttled off into the shrubs as he passed by, and the birds let out long, deep cries to warn each other of his presence.

He couldn't help wondering.

What if he stayed with Kerry-Anne?

They'd live in the RV of course. Key would move out, she wouldn't complain, and Kerry-Anne would get divorced. She'd move in with Wink and help him restore all those books he hadn't gotten around to fixing. She'd come to share his love of spines and yellow paper, and wouldn't mind the scent of glue that always clung to his skin. They'd spend nights under the desert sky, and roam endlessly from one end of the land to the other.

But he knew her plans.

She wanted college. She wanted a steady job. She wanted to have a couple of kids with Mark and be a foster mother to crack babies. She wanted a house she could come home to at night, where she would feel safe.

All right, Wink thought, I can make adjustments. I'll move in with her and get a job in a book store, or an antique store. Of course, getting a job will require proof of identification, which will require a birth certificate, which will bring up all sorts of questions about why I haven't been paying any taxes...

He stopped suddenly, jolted. It isn't going to work, he realized. How can this not work?

Of course it would work. It had to. Kerry-Anne would understand how he felt, and she'd compromise, or he would. Somehow they'd pull it off.

He resumed his walk again, a little slower. It will work, he told himself again. We'll find a way to make it work.

Kerry-Anne realized that she was not in her best form for working that night, between eyes dry and sore from crying and the puncture wounds in her stomach which had required stitches, but she went out anyway. Partly, she knew that her fury at Aurora after last night's fiasco would help fire her, and partly she was aware that she just wanted this job to be over.

Wink was waiting outside the RV for her. "Hi," he said, his dark skin illuminated by the moonlight.

Kerry-Anne nodded and couldn't help reaching out for him. He kissed her hair and touched her thoughts, and she let him. Tough day?

He didn't say anything else. After a moment, Kerry-Anne pulled away, picking up her guitar case from the pavement. "Are we ready to go?"

Wink nodded. "Come inside."

Key was in the driver's seat, hands folded neatly in her lap, very composed. She smiled politely at Kerry-Anne and said, "You might want to buckle up, this thing rolls around a lot."

Wink drove and Key gave directions. Kerry-Anne sat down on the couch and buckled herself in, feeling strange and out of place. Had she kissed him last night, some time in the frenzy? She thought she might have, and it wrenched at her gut.

You love him, she thought. There's no doubt about that. But it's not your fault, you don't need to feel this guilt.

She had spent the whole afternoon feeling guilty, sitting on the yard-sale quality mattress that had seemed so comfortable with Mark beside her in it, and bawled her eyes out. It hadn't done any good, every time she considered the situation she wanted to scream for lack of a solution. She could stay with Wink, giving up her plans for college and career and shattering Mark utterly. Or she could return to Mark, forcing him to live daily with the fact that there was some other guy out there who understood her in a way he never could, and forcing herself to live incomplete.

Key pulled up at the entrance to an apartment complex. "She's in 1122, it's right down this street. I won't pull in any further, because she might recognize the RV."

Merry-Anne unbuckled her seat belt and grabbed her guitar case. "Will you be back to pick me up, or should I call a cab?"

"See the Waffle House?" Key pointed to a brightly lit yellow and brown building down the street. "We'll be right there. Just come over when you're finished."

"Okay, great." Kerry-Anne hesitated, feeling as if she was forgetting something, and realized that she was waiting for Wink to hug her goodbye. You know I can't sleep without you here, Mark had said the night before.

God, she thought, if you couldn't sleep just because I was out, how are you sleeping tonight, knowing I'm not only working but with Wink, too?

Finally she just climbed down the steps and let herself out into the night.

She scoped out the apartment complex and finally arranged herself in a grove of hydrania bushes on the opposite side of the street from Aurora's apartment. She crouched down, found a comfortable but useful position, and unloaded her gun. It was beautiful, long and shiny, carefully oiled and cleaned after each use. Mark was right, she doted on her weapons like an old lady on a grandchild.

With the eye piece attached and a clear line to the front door of the apartment set up, there was nothing to do but wait.

An hour passed, then two. No lights went on in the apartment, and Kerry-Anne began to wonder if Aurora had already left. Almost prophetically, she felt a tap on her shoulder.

"Looking for me?" Aurora asked, and jumped on her.

Kerry-Anne fired without pausing, catching her assailant in the upper leg. The bullet exploded after it lodged, tearing open a hole in Aurora's leg that looked like a blasting site crater. Aurora swore loud enough to wake the dead, and then they were rolling together on the ground, using fingernails and teeth and unnatural strength. The gun was easily enough torn from Kerry-Anne's hands and Aurora brought it down on her neck, trying to crush her spine with it. Kerry-Anne brought a steel-toed boot up into Aurora's injured leg and heard her growl with pain.

Strangled with my own gun, Kerry-Anne thought, and poked at Aurora's eyes with one hand while the other slid into her boot and pulled out a long wooden knife. Their bodies were pressed too closely together for her to get a really good angle at the heart, so she crammed the knife into Aurora's side and felt it glide easily between the ribs.

Aurora's eyes open suddenly and the strength went out of her attack. Kerry-Anne threw her off and grabbed her other gun from the guitar case, holding it against Aurora's chest.

"Do it," Aurora told her.

"This isn't personal," Kerry-Anne said. "I've been hired."

"By who?"

"Circle Daybreak. They think you're a threat, I guess."

"And you have to kill me, because you're a human and if the Night World wins this war you'll be exterminated. Kill or be killed, law of the jungle."

She winced, and blood frothed at her mouth.

"We understand each other then?" Kerry-Anne asked.

Aurora nodded, furiously annoyed. "Just shoot already!"

Kerry-Anne fired, first through the heart, then in the head. The bullets exploded and sent bits of flesh and guts flying. Aurora's body stilled, and then began to shrivel up like a time-lapse film of a plum becoming a prune.

She threw her guns into the case, frowning deeply at the bend in her shot-gun's barrel, and began walking quickly toward the Waffle House. No doubt someone in the apartments had heard the gunshots and the police were on their way.

She let herself into the RV and headed for the bathroom, knowing that she couldn't enter the restaurant covered in bloody leaves. As she washed herself off and changed into a clean pair of jeans and a green blouse, she kept replaying her conversation with Aurora. We understand each other then?

If we understood each other, Kerry-Anne thought, standing before the mirror and brushing her hair out, then why did I have to kill her?

Wink ordered the house special, and Key had two slices of lemon meringue pie. She didn't have to eat, but it had become a habit. This was their fifth order since they'd dropped Kerry-Anne off at Aurora's apartment.

All day the thoughts had kept coming. It won't work. It just won't work. She'll be unhappy and so will I.

But I can see inside her, right into her soul. And she can see into mine.

He stared at Key, sitting across from him. Her face was as serene as always, the focus of her sapphire eyes firm and direct. No clutter, no emotional instability in those eyes. She knew what might happen and was prepared either way.

He didn't know for sure how he felt, what he wanted, and when Kerry-Anne got back, she would be expecting him to help her make a decision. She'd want to talk it out, lay everything on the table and examine it. Wink wasn't sure he could live up to her expectations.

He didn't see her until she was standing next to the booth, dressed differently and appearing fresh. "Hi," she said. "Key, would it be all right if I talked to Wink alone for a minute?"

Key nodded and stood up. "I'll be out in the RV when you're finished," she said, and Wink watched her walk away with a feeling of apprehension.

Kerry-Anne plunked down in the empty seat and pushed her hair behind her ears. She met Wink's eyes and looked into them deeply for a long time, saying nothing, telling him nothing. Wink didn't pull away, or touch her hand to start up the connection that would allow him to know exactly what she was thinking. He sensed she didn't want that.

"Listen," she said finally, and her voice was softer than he had expected, gentler. "This whole thing caught us both by surprise, and in a lot of ways it still doesn't make sense. I know you hate to hear me say this kind of stuff out loud, but I don't see any other way. The simple fact is that we aren't going to make each other happy. We're too different, and we want things that are a thousand miles apart. We can understand each other until the cows come home, but that doesn't mean we'll get along."

She leaned back and lowered her head. "I'm going home to Mark," she said. "I'd like to keep in touch, if that's all right with you. But I like my life," she lifted her face boldly, "and I love my husband."

Wink nodded slowly. She had put perfectly into words what he couldn't have voiced at all. She's everything I'm not, he thought, but that didn't change what was true. She was right, they'd only hurt each other in the end.

"Yes," he said simply. It wasn't enough for her, he knew she was dying to ask how he felt about everything, but he saw the resolve in her face as she stood up and told him only, "I'm glad we're agreed. I'm heading out to the RV."

He watched her back as she walked out the door, the same way Key had walked away a few minutes before, and smiled faintly.

After dropping Kerry-Anne off at her car, Wink and Key drove out to the heart of the desert where the road ended. They built a fire in the sand and sat down together. "She left her address on the cork-board in the kitchen," Key said, "if you ever want to write."

Storm clouds gathered above them but it never rained. Wink put his hand over Key's.

Kerry-Anne and Mark were up all night. They ordered in a ton of Chinese food and sat on the living room floor with the television on MUTE, and Kerry-Anne told him everything. She went over each conversation until Mark could have recited it by memory alone, and for a while they just cried and gushed, and then they made out on the couch.

The End

December 19, 1998