The woman did not ask why it was in there. She took it from him, and spread a blanket over the grisly front seat. The blood had dried, but the interior still smelled. They both rolled down the front windows and sat there for a moment, staring at the house.

"I can't take much more of this," the woman said.

"You'll have to," Lannes replied, and started the engine.

She watched him drive, wondering what to believe. Not so long ago, he had been the one slumped in the pa.s.senger seat leaking buckets of blood. Now he looked the same as he ever had, sitting straight and tall behind the wheel of his car.

But everything was different now. Everything.

It was three in the morning. Lannes found a Denny's. The young woman felt like a fugitive walking in. There weren't many people in there: some college students with their books out, a few grizzled men hunched over empty plates and cups of coffee. Not much talking was going on. Frank Sinatra crooned.

The waitress gave Lannes and his companion a booth in the corner, away from the windows, where they sat facing the front door. There was a good view of everyone coming and going. It was hard for the woman to relax. She was afraid someone would come in shooting. She still held the shoe box and put it on the chair beside her.

Lannes seemed uncomfortable, too. He looked so much larger than the seat and table, as though he might break both with one wrong move. She wondered about his claustrophobia. His nightmares.

His wings.

"We can go someplace else if you want," she said. "Or wait until morning when the drive-up windows open."

Lannes hesitated, surprise flickering through his eyes. "No. But...thank you. I appreciate the thought."

The woman shrugged, flipping open the menu, afraid to look at him again.

She ordered a burger and fries with a strawberry milkshake. Lannes got two club sandwiches, a side order of onion rings, and as an afterthought, a Philly melt and lemonade. The waitress took it all in stride, all smiles for him. She winked at them both, actually.

After the waitress left, Lannes and the woman sat in awkward silence. He started playing with his fork. She tore her napkin into bits.

"Remind me," she finally said, slowly, "is the rest of the world as strange as we are, or are we just...unique?"

Lannes looked amused. "I guess that depends on what your definition of strange is. Because I see some things on television that make me feel positively normal."

She bit back a smile. "I'm serious."

"I know," he said, his own smile fading. "But I don't like the answer."

She nodded slowly. "Six billion humans in this world. How many of you?"

He seemed taken aback by her question, but after a tense moment, relaxed. "A handful in comparison. Hardly a wink of the eye."

"And you survive by... hiding your appearance?"

Again, tension. But this time she seemed to feel his anxiety in her mind as if there were a link between them. It was not intrusive, but it was distinct, as though her brain contained a separate room, a place where odd notions and power lived. And the door was creaking open.

She took a long drink of water, trying to hide her unease. But Lannes was looking at her with a curious consideration that made her feel like he could see right through her.

"Some of us mask our appearances," he said slowly, still searching her face. "Others just...hide. Big world. There are still places where people don't go."

She closed her eyes. "I didn't expect this. The hotel room and amnesia were enough."

"I would never have told you," he said quietly. "I would never have taken the risk."

She understood. She did not know what he was, but she understood his fear on a gut level. "Then why did you help me?"

He looked down at his hands. "I still don't understand why you're so calm about all this."

"Why, Lannes? Why did you do it?"

He hesitated, still not looking at her. "I wish you wouldn't ask."

She did not give him the easy way out. Lannes rolled his shoulders and took a drink of water. "I helped you because I was hurt once. Not like you, but similar. My life was...stolen from me." He stopped, finally meeting her gaze, and the weight of it was like being punched.

"I understood you," he said. "That's all. I understood."

Her fingers dug into the seat. The waitress approached with their plates and set them down. When she walked away, Lannes said, "You need a name."

"Do I?" she said weakly. "I don't know if I feel comfortable giving myself a name not my own."

"I have to call you something."

She grabbed some French fries, then dropped them to pick up the ketchup. Squirting some on the rim of her plate, she offered him the bottle. He shook his head. "Thanks."

And then, "A name."

She grumbled under her breath, rolling some fries in ketchup and cramming them into her mouth. She sat back, chewing, then repeated the process-efficient, no-nonsense, all business.

"Jane," she said. "See Jane run."

"No," he replied. "Let's not."

Her mouth twitched. "Becky."

"Only if you plan on wearing pigtails."

"Ashley."

"I'll leave you at the side of the road, Valley girl."

"Aretha."

"Blasphemy."

"I thought this was supposed to be my name, and not yours."

He half grinned. "I'll be the one saying it."

She made a face and went after her hamburger, using her palm to flatten it against the plate until it was little more than a bread-and-meat pancake. Amnesiac, maybe, but she had some definite habits.

"Who named you?" she asked abruptly.

Lannes swallowed. "My mother. She brought the name with her from Europe. France, maybe."

"Jean Lannes," she said. "One of Napoleon's generals."

"Ah. Well, I don't think I'm named for-" He stopped. "I'm amazed at the things you seem to remember."

She shrugged and ate more of her burger. "It's random. What was your mother's name?"

"Chloe," he said, after a moment. "She and my father live in northern Canada, up around Hudson Bay."

"You?"

"Maine. With my brothers."

"How many?"

Again, he hesitated. "Four. I'm the second oldest."

"No sisters?" When he shook his head, she added, "You'll be missed, won't you? You can't keep gallivanting around with me."

"You already know I work from home." Lannes hunched lower into the seat. "This was supposed to be a vacation."

"I'm sorry. I guess that means you don't have a family. Kids and a wife."

It was hard to say those words, surprisingly so. Nor did it help that Lannes took a long time to answer. He bit into his sandwich, as though mulling over his words.

"No," he finally said, avoiding her gaze. "No one."

And then, "Isn't there any name that resonates with you?"

She shook her head, stabbing some more fries into the ketchup-also keeping her gaze down, afraid he might see relief in her eyes. "You might as well call me after this restaurant. Nothing strikes a bell."

"Denny," he said. "You want to answer to that?"

She rolled it around in her mouth. "Not really. But I will if I have to."

"Denny," he tried again, looking into her eyes. "No. That's not right. Maybe something symbolic. Like...Lethe."

"Lethe," she echoed. "That's a loaded name."

"Means forgetfulness in Greek."

"It's also a river in Hades. Those who drink from it forget everything."

"But only so they can be reincarnated without the burden of past lives." Lannes smiled. "Appropriate, I think."

"I would rather remember my past, bad or good."

"And if you don't?"

Something in his voice made her heart hurt. "You don't think I'm going to get my memories back."

Lannes poked his sandwich. "I think it would be... prudent to prepare for the possibility."

"Prudent," she echoed, going cold. "You know something, don't you?"

"No," he said, but it was too late. Words and moments fell into place, little pieces adding up into the larger puzzle, and she had an insight that filled her with dread, even while it seemed impossible. Impossible, relatively speaking.

"You can read my mind," she said. "Oh, G.o.d."

"It's not like that," he told her.

"Bulls.h.i.t. You can hear my thoughts."

"No," Lannes muttered sharply. "Not all the time anyway."

The woman threw up her hands. "Thanks a lot."

Exasperation filled his face, and he tore apart his sandwich, tossing it in pieces on his plate. "The big stuff happens only when we're touching. Strengthens the link. And I had no choice the first time. I had to make certain you weren't a threat to Frederick."

"The first time. First of many, I a.s.sume."

"You have a loud mind," he growled.

"Fantastic." She looked away from him, suffering an odd panic and humiliation. Lannes had been in her mind, what little was left of it. She'd had some rather embarra.s.sing thoughts. Not to mention she had enough people in her mind. Mucking around, s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up her life.

Enough. No time for this. Suck it up.

Just like everything else. The woman forced herself to breathe, and rested her elbows on the table. "Fine. You read minds, you heal yourself and others, you only look human, and you have some G.o.dd.a.m.n wings. Am I forgetting anything?"

"I'm handy with leather," he replied dryly.

"Boy Scout," she muttered. "You're not telling me everything."

"Should I?" He leaned in-a giant, powerful. "I'm trying to protect you."

"And if you're not around?" she asked. He started to protest and she held up her hand, stopping him. "Please. Please, Lannes. The truth."

"Truth," he said softly. "The truth is in your mind. Your mind, which has been...tampered with. Your memories were ripped out. I could feel it when we first met."

She no longer felt hungry, and shoved away her plate. "I can get them back."

Lannes shook his head. "Doesn't work that way."

"I guess you're the expert."

"Expert enough. But not like some."

"Then don't...," she began, and stopped, swallowing hard. "Don't tell me things like that."