Authors notes:

I had seven chapters queued up. I was laid up for a while, and wrote like mad. Then, I looked back, and chopped two of them. As I posted daily, I kept chopping off the end. It just didn't feel right. (To those of you who previewed some of the previous versions, apologies. Think of it as an alternate universe.)

At any rate, today I had help to regain my way. As is my nature from my table-top role-playing game-mastering days, I started 'winding up' endings for the characters, the plots. I hate role-playing campaigns that go on and on and on. I like them to end on a high note - not necessarily saving the world or defeating the many-tentacled shadow organization, but somehow ending with a sense of finality.

Today's epiphanies:

1) It's too early to end it yet. The characters still haven't told their stories, answered the questions. Even if Marc were to be vanquished, too many things are still unresolved.

2) The endings blinded me to the immediate stuff. It'd be like navigating a woodland trail by the North Star. Sure, it's bright and steady. But it won't help me see the next step I'm to take.

3) I lost track of my audience. Yes, I'm writing this for me. Any author must be hir own greatest fan. But, I have an audience in mind, and I should focus on that overlap of my interests and theirs (yours.)

This is a learning experience for me, and I thank you all for accompanying me as I fumble my way along.

(Those of you just joining here, start with Callan and Sian 1)



Eventually, the sun's glare awoke Evander. He unknotted himself from the still-sleeping Sian. He looked down at his pale, bare chest and said. "Oh, fuck. I fucked up my last chance."

"Hm?" Callan raised a china cup in salutation. "Kenyan coffee. Shall I pour?"

Dumbly, Evander nodded. He almost stood, then grasped the sheet, tugged it to cover his waist and below. Sian murmured as that same sheet beneath her was tugged to its limit. Evander sat back down, denuded a pillowcase and walked up, the white linen pressed to his waist. "Where are my clothes?"

"I think on the far side of the other bed. Leastwise that's where you threw them."

The younger man blushed, then backed away. He did an awkward dance and kicked his clothing out, and into the bathroom. "'Scuse me, please."

Callan shook his head, his thoughts back days of to similar display, similar embarrassments. When Evander emerged, working his buckle, Callan waved him over, poured him a glass of the rosewood-coloured brew. "What do you mean, you messed up your last chance?"

He took a sip, grimaced. "Strong stuff." Callan nodded for him to continue, so he said, "We used to go together. Then we broke up, I don't really know why. I wanted to get back together, but she said no. Somehow, she ended up with me having one last chance -- if I could help her solve a problem and not have sex, er, make love to her, then I might have a shot at getting back together."

"Last night didn't count. She engaged us at my command. Neither of you believed me when I said I took no pleasure from the coupling itself. For me, this is merely a source of Power, nothing more."

"About that... I'm not really sure what happened. It's all a blur."

"It will come back to you. Give it time."

"Did I, uh, win?"

"In our challenge? No, you lost. As I think you would say it, 'Big time.' With Sian, however, I think you won."

"Huh?"

"She was quite passionate with you, young Evander. And you pleased her greatly."

"I did? But I thought she was your..."

"She's my thrall, not my trull."

"What?"

"A trull, a lady of the evening. A prostitute."

"So you let her..."

"I encouraged it, even. Neither of you seemed to object, and, once I taught you some techniques, you proved yourself quite adept."

Evander busied himself apportioning eggs and sausages from the silvered dishes. Even had he muted his Senses, Callan would have easily noted the young man's cheeks redden.

"I think it's coming back to me. Oh, boy. Yeah, it's back. Wow. Like, wow."

"Indeed. As I said, you proved yourself very adept and pleasing her, over and again."

"I did? I mean, I did. Okay. Yeah, I did."

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, lad. We've been procreating since before recorded time. And we procreate not because of any noble philosophy, any rational drive. We do so because it feels good. It does, yes?"

Evander nodded. He set down his fork quietly.

"Then take pride in it. By your hand, she grew to sing of stars and saints. By your staff, she sank to cry to earth and sea."

"And you didn't feel jealous? I mean, she's your ... uh..."

"Thrall, lad. And, no. Jealousy is for the insecure. I helped. A man only has two hands, and a woman can be aroused all over." He regarded Evander. "You don't believe me? Imagine a hand of well-trimmed nails, raking down her back, ever so slowly. Or a tongue tracing the inside of her upper arm, that which is so infrequently touched. Think about the kiss of your breath as your nose traces up her calf. The whole of her body is a gateway to her mind, and through that, her soul."

Callan sipped his coffee, then looked over at the younger man. "A woman's pleasures are not solely gathered on those three nubs, boy. Yes, they are sensitive. They are obvious gatherings, so that a lick, a stroke, a nibble or even a deep and passionate kiss can set her aflame. But, flame requires kindling, and kindling requires care. If you focus solely on those three gems, it'd be as if you had flint and steel, but were trying to set a log aflame."

Evander gaped at Callan, and looked unaware of it, or of much else.

"It's coming back to you, you said. Do you remember this now? How she whimpered at your light touch? How she wanted it, then, there, and how you kept her aloft? Yes. That's right. Don't just remember the crescendos, lad. The symphony, the variations on the melody. Give her what she wants, just not when she wants it. Make her not just want it, but need it. When the whole of her mind is filled with that need, when her mind itself is only that need, then you tease her one last time, and give it to her."

He set down his cup.

"Which you did. Three times. And twice yourself, earlier. But, as I said, you may have lost the challenge, but you may have won Sian."

"Yeah, you mentioned passion. But you can bring that out, even if it's not there."

"I can, but I don't. Firstly, this is a deeply intimate act, not one suited for machinations. Secondly, I'm here to harvest Power, not spend it. And besides, who am I to stand in the way of love? Sian may belong to me, but she is allowed to live her life and to love as she may."

"For one night, anyhow. Then you take her back, right?" Evander paused, puzzled. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"'One night?' Where did you hear that you had only one night?"

"From me," floated a fatigued voice from the bed. "I lied. I was trying to get you out of there, Vander. This isn't your fight. Never was."

"Si! How long have you been awake?"

"With you two yammering on? A while."

"Uh, how much did you hear, then?"

"Enough." She turned to Callan and said, "Sire, can I ask you to excuse us for a while? 'Vander and I need some alone time."