Maksim waited and held on until the fierce tremor in Gus's body stilled and she stood away, holding her breath.

"I will stay," he said. "I will be here when you are ready."

Gus exhaled.

"And I think you might make the time for dinner before you leave," Maksim said.

Gus looked down at her hands, all the knuckles dark with scars.

"How about a drink?" she said.

Maksim felt his throat tighten with something, pity or pride or guilt or all of those.

He would have taken her to a pub, at least, but she led him southwest through Parkdale to the LCBO. She let him pick out a bottle of bourbon that wasn't the cheapest on offer while she fidgeted with the bracelets at her wrist.

Back outdoors, she was easier. They walked south past Gus's old flat and sat on a bench overlooking the highway and the lake. The evening began to cool, fresh air drifting in off the water. Gus drank quickly until Maksim could see the tension loosened in her shoulders. She talked about the job a little and the places she had seen, forests on forests.

"I think that's the kind of place I'll go next," she said, fingers tearing idly at the edge of the paper bag holding her bottle. "Someplace with gorgeous things."

"Not South Africa," Maksim said. "Choose a place where you will be a stranger."

"If you'll lend me a bit of blunt for a ticket," Gus said, with her blinding grin, sunset haloing her tangled hair. "Right now, I have enough to make it as far as, oh, New York, and that's if I don't expect to be hungry when I get there."

"Where are you staying? I will come by with money."

"Nowhere," Gus said. "Not now. I'll be on a flight tonight, if you can get me drunk enough."

And so midnight found Maksim bundling Gus into a security line at Pearson, with her kit bag and her bowie knife safely checked, her clothes still filthy, and her face, puffy and flushed, looking every bit as old as the faked pa.s.sport said.

She didn't look at him once she pa.s.sed the scanners. Just kicked her feet back into her boots and walked on.

JULY 16.

WAXING GIBBOUS.

Sooner or later, the nightly terrors would fade; but in the meantime, thought Lissa, she could not be expected to keep her life on hold.

She arrived at Rafe's apartment-he called it a flat-carrying a little box of Portuguese custard tarts and a bottle of the barbera she remembered him drinking the first time they'd gone out.

"Wow," he said when he opened the door.

"Too much?" Lissa asked. She'd worn her hair down, rippling over her shoulders, over the thin straps of the top Stella kept trying to steal. It was a flattering top.

"Custard tarts," Rafe said, skimming his palm over her collarbone. "Can't resist 'em."

"You're not supposed to resist them."

"Come," he said. "There's pesto salad and salmon steaks. If you can keep from distracting me while I finish cooking."

"I'll do my best."

"You'll have to do better than that."

"Rafe. There's some stuff I don't know-"

"I know. Remember? Everyone starts at square one, every time."

"Yeah, well, I've never even played the game."

"It's not a game," he said, taking her hand. "Hasn't been a game for a while now."

He kissed her mouth and the hollow of her throat and led her inside to the table he had prepared.

Later, when she woke at the accustomed time, shivering, with the dream of the mummified baby terrible and familiar in her mind's sight, she did not reach out for his hand. But she listened to his breath and knew he would still be there when the hour had ended.

About the Author.

CLAIRE HUMPHREY's short fiction has appeared in Strange Horizons, Beneath Ceaseless Skies, Apex, Crossed Genres, Fantasy Magazine, and Podcastle. Her short story "Bleaker Collegiate Presents an All-Female Production of Waiting for G.o.dot" appeared in the Lambda Awardnominated collection Beyond Binary, and her short story "The Witch of Tarup" was published in the critically acclaimed anthology Long Hidden. Spells of Blood and Kin is her first novel.

Visit her Web site at www.clairehumphrey.ca/. Or sign up for email updates here.

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