"I did," he said slowly. "I did. I was so... furious. He hauled Katy out of the cab, and she was sick, and he was so hateful. I remember feeling that he was spewing venom at us. And I just-snapped."

He didn't make a huge protest of innocence or justify his action. He didn't try to laugh it off. Instead he looked off into the distance, as if remembering the whole night. He sighed, making another cloud. "Babe, is that why you left?"

"It was a bunch of things," I muttered.

He was silent, as if mentally reviewing. "Okay," he said again. "I'm sorry to hear I was part of it. I wish you'd talked to me about it, then. Anyway. So you're here-at this farm. Have you been here the whole time? Is it... going well for you?" He gestured in the general direction of River's Edge.

"Well" was not how I would describe my stay here. I shrugged.

"Look, if I know that you're healthy and happy here, and among friends, I can leave with a clear conscience," he said, and smiled. "Because I'll know my friend is fine."

Friend. We had been friends, for such a long time. My relationship with him seemed to be the definition of friendship. I called him in emergencies, and he always came through. When he needed help, I was glad to pitch in. We went shopping, influencing what the other wore. For so long, my endless days had been bearable because Incy had been there. When I was down, he would do anything, crazy things, to cheer me up. I mean, the male-stripper-gram hadn't been a good idea, but still. We sent each other candy and flowers and little gifts we'd seen that had reminded us of the other. He'd given me a Studebaker once. I'd given him a Corvette. He'd wrecked it.

We simply... always preferred each other's company to any other. I looked up into his eyes, so dark they looked like part of the night sky. I'd looked into those eyes a million times, right before falling asleep, over a dinner table, on countless ocean liners, in an emergency room.

Who could I call my friend at River's Edge? With uncomfortable surprise, I realized there wasn't anyone. No one hated me, but no one was really a good friend, not anything like Incy and I had been, or even Boz and Katy. I thought of how Anne and Amy walked arm in arm, how Brynne and Rachel studied together, their heads close. I would have thought Brynne's flamboyance would be a bad foil for Rachel's natural studiousness, but in magick, it seemed, they were more alike.

I'd been an outsider when I arrived, and I'd remained that way for more than two months. And maybe that had been my fault, I admitted, thinking of the overtures I'd rebuffed, invitations to walks, to movies-once, to spend the afternoon making cookies. I'd never accepted, usually heading up to my room instead.

I remembered River telling me that I'd never be able to love anyone else until I loved and accepted myself. That still seemed just as unattainable a goal as it did when I'd shown up like a hungry mongrel.

Oh G.o.d-I'd screwed up so bad, wasted the last two months. I'd been kidding myself. All of my sincere attempts, my stupid, pathetic job, my b.u.mbling struggles to learn, to fit in-it was one painful memory after another. What had I been thinking? Why had I even tried? I recalled the patient smiles, the measured explanations of basic, A-B-C stuff that every immortal in the world knew except me. They must have been laughing themselves sick.

Incy let out another breath and stood up. "I don't remember Ma.s.sachusetts being this cold," he said. He glanced up as a fine snowflake drifted down, swaying back and forth like a tiny feather. Another flake joined it. Perfect. Because I needed to get snowed on, on top of everything else. I still had nowhere to go, nothing to do with myself. And I would have to give Incy his coat back.

Then what? Yep, I had really thought this through. Was making great choices. Had learned so much.

Incy smiled suddenly and looked at me. "Do you remember that time in Rome-when was it? Like the fifties. Late fifties? We were at that restaurant, and Boz was telling a story, and the waiter put down that huge platter of spaghetti, and we were so hungry?"

I could see it at once and smiled involuntarily, knowing what was coming next.

"Of course Boz was three sheets to the wind," Incy said.

"Montepulciano," I said, remembering the wine we'd been drinking.

"And he was waving his arms around, telling that stupid story about the sheep," Incy said, starting to chuckle. "And then he slammed his fist down on the table to make a point-"

"And the plank of the table flew up, launching the spaghetti platter," I said, grinning. "Oh my G.o.d, spaghetti everywhere. Jeez, what a mess."

"But we wouldn't know," Incy said. His smile seemed to light up the area around us.

"Because we sped out of there, leaving Boz to take the blame," I said, snickering.

Incy tilted his head back and laughed, and though I had seen him laugh a bazillion times, it was still fun. The crazed, blood-drenched Incy of my visions seemed almost incomprehensible right now. Yes, he had crippled the cabbie-but now I wondered if it had been Incy's own inherent darkness bursting out of him without warning. As mine had. Or had my own darkness even made him do it? It was a nauseating possibility.

I shivered as I contemplated giving Incy his coat back. I was so deliciously warm. Without thinking I slipped my arms into the big sleeves and wrapped it around myself.

Incy gave me a sweet, loving smile. "I'm so glad-relieved-to see you're all right, babe," he said. "I was worried, but you're doing fine. So... give me a call, next time you want to hang out, tell stories about Boz."

"How is Boz?" In pieces somewhere? I still couldn't shake that frightening image.

"He's fine." Incy shook his head: silly Boz. "He, Katy, Stratton, and Cicely are all waiting for me back in Boston. They've been worried about you, too. Anyway-we were thinking of hanging out there for a while, and then at the end of the month catching the new sixty-day cruise that Halliday just announced."

I love cruises. No driving, no looking for hotels, no finding restaurants. Plus, you can get drunk and the worst thing that could happen to you is you fall overboard. Which is really hard to do.

"It goes to the Far East-China, j.a.pan, Thailand, Vietnam. Then down to India-all around in there. It has some great day trips." He shrugged. "Sounded fun."

It sounded like freaking paradise.

"Huh. How much does it cost?" Not that cost was ever an issue for us.

Incy snorted. "Practically nothing. Twenty-two thousand for a suite. For sixty days."

"You're all going?" I remembered other cruises with the gang. They had been so, so fun.

Incy nodded. "Stratton's still on the fence-depends on this girl he's chasing."

"Oh. It sounds fun. It leaves at the end of January?"

He nodded and put his hands into his corduroy pockets. He must have been freezing and was shifting from foot to foot. "Yeah. Like January twenty-fifth or something. Katy says she needs all new resort wear." He rolled his eyes. "But we can do some shopping in Boston, and then take the red-eye to LA in time to catch the boat." He gave me another sweet, somewhat wistful smile. "They'll be so glad to hear that you're okay. Just hiding out in the backwoods, chilling. Literally."

I gave a tiny laugh. "How did you get here?" I asked.

He gestured vaguely over one shoulder. "I have a sweet ride, a Caddy. The latest Incymobile. The road isn't too far from here, actually. I concentrated on you, seemed to feel your energy. I thought I must be crazy, but something told me to stop there, get out, and walk. And then there you were."

"Oh." I licked my lips again. My car was totaled, of course.

Incy looked at me. "Honey-you're happy here, right? You're fine? I can leave and be happy for you?"

My eyes filled with tears again, and Incy looked alarmed. I was not known for being a big crier, and he hadn't been around for the last two months of waterworks.

I didn't know what to say. My mind was splitting in two. There was no way I could go back to River's Edge, face all those people, look like such a failure, and have them realize how inescapably dark I was. But would being on my own be any better? I'd have to come up with a whole new life for myself. What would I do? Where would I go? While I'd always had my own apartment or house-Incy was a huge slob-still, I'd known who I would be with every day. Knew basically what I would do. Being at River's Edge had, in some ways, been more of the same: a pattern.

If I left River's Edge, and I wasn't going to be with Innocencio, what would I do? The thought filled me with panic as I pictured myself living in a new place, maybe knowing a couple of other immortals I wasn't close to. It was the last thing I felt like doing.

But what choice did I have? After all, I was still kind of afraid of Incy-wasn't I? I didn't even know. He seemed so... himself. Totally himself. Easy and fun and really, sincerely concerned about me, and oh yes, sane. Because obvious insanity would be a deal breaker for sure.

I rubbed my hand across my eyes, which burned and felt gritty. Snow was falling more heavily now.

"Nas. Now I'm worried again. Was anyone mean to you? Do I need to kick some a.s.s?"

That thought alone was hilarious; he would never risk ruining his outfit. I gave a leaky smile.

I was frozen, not with cold but with indecision and utter confusion. If I'd been lost, not knowing who I was two months ago, I was doubly so now.

"Listen," said Incy, really looking concerned. "Do you want to just get out of here? You could come get in the car. I'll crank the heater; we'll be in Boston in two hours. You can take a nice, hot bath with a brandy, to warm you from the inside out. We'll get room service. You'll feel like a new woman. And tomorrow you can decide what you feel like doing next."

It all sounded so intensely appealing that I almost whimpered. But how could I possibly just hop in his car like I'd hit a reset b.u.t.ton? I'd spent the last two months going to extreme lengths to hide from Incy. But I know I couldn't stay here.

"I don't want to push you. I know you're doing this... experiment, or whatever, for yourself, and I want to support that," Incy said kindly. It reminded me of the time I'd decided to study ballet, in Paris, in the late forties. He'd gently pointed out that most successful ballerinas began their studies at early ages, five or six, maybe seven. And I was... you know, already more than four hundred. But he'd still been supportive, had gone with me to get my leotard and shoes. Even came to a recital, before I finally wised up and dropped the whole thing.

"But I'm just saying, if you wanted, you could come hang out. You don't have to stay with us, or me, if you need more s.p.a.ce," he said quickly. "You do what you want to do. You could fly out of Boston tomorrow, go anywhere else. But of course you'd be welcome to stay with us. I'd love for you to come on the cruise. Who else could truly appreciate the cross section of humanity that one sees on cruises? Pretty much only you." He and I were always merciless, dissecting wardrobes and hairstyles of fellow pa.s.sengers while we sat at the bar, slugging back gin rickeys. Ha-like I should talk about anyone else's clothes or hair, right?

That was the coup de grce: The cruise sounded like heaven. Sixty days of people-watching and seeing fabulous things and not having to think at all. Not having to work, or learn, or prove myself worthy in any way. Not having to look at Reyn, to see Amy's face shining up at him. Not having to see River, giving me chance after chance.

I'd run away from Incy before. I'd become convinced he was evil and dangerous.

And I'd run away from River before.

I was quite the runner. Never the soldier-on-through type. For some reason I pictured Reyn being disapproving of my cowardice, unable to respect my need to flee. He would think I was being a sissy, a big baby.

Good thing I didn't care what Reyn thought. That whole situation was impossible, anyway. I knew that.

Nothing seemed certain, rock solid. No decision, out of my three choices, seemed like a good idea.

I truly did not know what to do, but whatever I decided would have a huge effect on me, on my life.

Give me a sign, I pleaded silently. G.o.ddess? Universe? Anyone? Anyone? Give me a sign. Tell me what to do.

Please, someone tell me what to do....

"Nas?" Incy's voice was gentle. "Come on and get in the car. I'll take care of you. Okay?"

CHAPTER 18.

Three hours later we were facing the million bright lights of Boston. We'd stopped a while back and bought wine and some Twinkies-and let me say that they are two great tastes that taste pretty vile together.

Every once in a while Incy would look over at me and smile.

"What?" I asked.

"I'm so happy to see you," he said. "I know it was stupid. You're a big girl, after all, but I just couldn't shake my worry. And also, you know, it was hard on me." He gave a wry laugh. "I mean, enough about you. Let's talk about me. I'd gotten so used to doing everything with you that I was out of balance for a while."

I took another swig of wine-the finest that a 7-Eleven on Highway 2 had to offer-and felt my first tingle of alarm since I'd gotten in the car. How out of balance had he been? Was getting into this Caddy the stupidest thing I'd ever done? Well, yes. I mean besides the general stupidity of it. Had I blithely gotten into a car with a killer?

"What do you mean, out of balance?" Here was some personal growth: pursuing something I might not want to hear but should probably know. It was something new and different for me, all of this lesson-applying. I watched him out of the corner of my eye, in case he suddenly became visibly insane or started morphing into a werewolf or something. Again, werewolf = deal breaker.

Instead he chuckled sheepishly. "I hadn't realized how dependent I'd gotten on you," he said frankly. "I was so used to consulting you, planning stuff with you, thinking of us doing things together. With you gone, I wandered around bleating pathetically until Boz slapped me and said, 'Pull yourself together, man!' "

He said the last bit in an English accent, as if quoting a movie, and laughed.

"Huh," I said, still watching him.

Incy shrugged. "I always missed you-didn't stop missing you-but I did figure out how to dress and bathe myself."

No, I had not done that for him. For G.o.d's sake. He was exaggerating.

"Oh."

"Then I started, you know, just planning for one." Another sheepish shrug. And he seemed so freaking normal. Incredibly normal and healthy, even more than when I'd left. Maybe my leaving had been good for him? Broken a bad pattern between us? Maybe I had been radiating darkness even then, and it had affected him, affected all of us. With me gone for the longest period of time in a hundred years, he'd been able to detox. In which case it would all certainly happen again-I was still dark. But I was aware of it now. Would that help? I didn't know, and thinking about it made my head hurt. I didn't want to think about it, a.n.a.lyze everything to death. I just wanted to... feel better.

Even if Incy was better off now, standing more on his own ice floe.

I guessed it would eventually become clear. Either things would be okay, or my life would become a much more treacherous atrocity than I could possibly imagine. One or the other. Somehow I'd deal with it, like I'd dealt with everything else-450 years of famines and plagues and floods and wars and crashing economies.

I stared out the window at the busy Boston streets, pleasantly fuzzy from the dreadful wine, wrapped in the warm coc.o.o.n of Incy's Caddy. I had uncountable memories of being in a car with Incy, from the very first Model Ts to today's Caddy. Between us, he and I had totaled something like eight or nine cars, prompting multiple newspaper headlines like "Miracle Survivors in Serious Collision." I remembered us driving on the Autobahn in Germany and across a dark, empty desert at night. We'd had fabulous sports cars and old tin buggies with wheels like bicycle tires. Incy and I. So many memories.

My mind conjured River's face, and I drank deeply from the bottle to blot it out. Would any of them be surprised that I had done this, that I was with Incy again? Or would they shake their heads and think that they'd always known I would screw up spectacularly? Would they look for me? Had they looked for me? And Reyn... he'd wanted something from me. And true to form I'd run away from him like a rabbit from a fox.

For less than one second, the merest flash of a blip of time, I imagined the relief of Reyn coming to get me, Reyn storming in, wresting me away from Incy, saving me from-myself.

Then I was furious that I'd had that thought, that I was so weak I needed someone to save me from myself. Screw that! They didn't know better than I did! Their lives might work for them, but it had been torture for me! I wasn't made for that. It hadn't worked out. I berated myself for picturing Reyn as the strong one, stronger than me. I was plenty strong enough. I could absolutely take care of myself, like I'd done for the past four and a half centuries. I didn't need him or anyone else to remake my life or save me from anything.

I was fine.

And I was more than ready to have a good time, after two long months of drudgery and frustration.

"Here we are," Incy said, pulling under the overhang at the Liberty Hotel. We'd stayed here several times before; it was one of Boston's best and spiffiest. The fact that the building had once been the city jail raised its coolness rating to at least an eight. The designer had referenced that in various ways-one of its restaurants was named Clink, for example.

A valet ran up and opened the door for Incy, and a bellhop opened my door.

"Welcome to the Liberty, madam," he said. "May I get your luggage?"

"I don't have any." I swallowed, thinking of what I'd left behind. My amulet. My mother's most precious thing. My family's tarak-sin.

Plus all my ugly work clothes. Good riddance. I had a safe-deposit box here in Boston with money, pa.s.sports, etc. See? There are no problems. Only solutions.

"Ah. Very good," he said, trained to not notice that I was wearing a fabulous coat too big for me over dirty jeans and work boots. Smiling, he hurried over to open the heavy hotel door for us.

I stepped through the door and back into my old life.

It was horribly bright. Light hit my eyelids and I pushed my head under my pillow. I was on a big, deliciously comfortable bed, arms and legs out like a throwing star.

Light?

I bolted upright, regretting it immediately as my stomach lurched and my head bobbled on my neck like one of those dashboard dogs.

It was light outside! I must have way overslept! I must have- I wasn't home. I was at the Liberty, in Boston, with Incy. I blinked groggily at the clock. It was 8:13. I a.s.sumed AM. I hadn't slept this late in months. I leaned toward my side table and clawed for the phone, then punched the room-service b.u.t.ton. Moving slowly, I piled up my four fluffy down pillows and lay back very carefully.

I ordered a bunch of pastries, a couple of mimosas, and some Alka-Seltzer, then let the phone flop out of my hand onto the bed.

It was astonishing that I was with Incy again, in Boston again. We'd gotten in at around ten last night. Incy had been so cheerful, taking me to the top floor and grandly opening the door to the hotel's biggest suite. Inside, Boz and Katy, vividly alive, and Stratton and Cicely were arguing about something from-I swear to G.o.d-Buffy the Vampire Slayer.