Prologue

GENETRIX TOWER OPENS
Valerius Victorious, Victrix Vexed

The three year battle over control of the vampire community in New Hadria ended today. Solange Auriville of the Council of Metaspecial Interests officially declared the new headquarters of the Genetrix Order open for residents and businesses. This is the first city charter to be given to a vampire organization and makes the Genetrix the official order in the city. Originally one of the city’s Old Age apartment houses and still the tallest building in New Hadria, Genetrix Tower will now stand as a testament to the vital presence and influence of Hadrian vampires.

“This day has been long in coming, but not one of us had any doubts about this action,” Auriville said at a press conference in the Genetrix Tower lobby. “The Genetrix has been an asset to all of us in New Hadria. Yes, they are vampires, but they are also outstanding citizens and great contributors to our society. They have earned this distinction.”

Valerius, called the Prince of the Genetrix and the leader of the Order, has been working closely with Auriville and the Council to achieve this goal. “This is the realization of a dream for my kind. The Tower is a symbol of our strength and our unity. I may have led the way, but I defer to my brothers and sisters for having the courage to share my vision.” Valerius arrived in New Hadria five years ago. His history and original name remain unknown, in keeping with vampire tradition. But he brought with him ancient knowledge, a philosophy that would spread through the city. He called his way the Genetrix and thousands flocked to him for teaching and fellowship.

But the Genetrix was not the only vampire order in New Hadria. Three years ago Aurelian, the Lord of the Victrix, demanded that Valerius cease his efforts to gain city recognition. Having been born in New Hadria Aurelian contested that his own group, the Order of the Victrix, merited preference over the Genetrix. Aurelian continued his argument despite repeated rejection from the Council of Metaphysical Interests.

The leader of the Victrix could not be reached for comment, but he did prepare a statement for the New Hadria Crier.

“Obviously, by virtue or by vice, Valerius has managed to imprison the Council in his pocket. The city can do whatever it wants. We of the Victrix are not bound by any phony accord. Let the Genetrix enjoy their charter and their fame. We are still vampires and we are still here. We will be the dissenting voice in the crowd. I am no less a champion of my Order than Valerius is of his, and I owe the Victrix nothing less than to keep fighting.”

In reaction to this statement, Valerius said, “I am saddened that Aurelian will not simply come to peace with us. We extend friendship and coexistence. After all, we have much more in common than we have in conflict.”

But today is the day for the Genetrix. As vampires take up residence in its many apartments and restaurants, stores, and services move into the commercial floor, Genetrix Tower promises to become the biggest center of commerce and community in New Hadria. “This is the start of an amazing future for our vampire citizens,” Auriville said. “From here, nothing is impossible.”

Friends Answering Questions...Sort Of

You might wonder why I participate in this application if I don't particularly like it. Well, your guess is as good as mine. Is it part of the social meme of Facebook? Is it an attempt to create a real community? Does anybody care? I like this third option.

So for kicks, I went to my own list of questions about me answered by anonymous "friends", copied the results, and posted the whole caboodle right here. Do people get me right or wrong? Let's see.

Do you think that Emilie Conroy would let you cheat off their paper on a test? Yes

Not damn likely. Go do your own studying!

Do you think that Emilie Conroy is 'smarter than the average bear'? No

Either someone doesn't know me AT ALL or they think this is a drastic understatement.

Do you think that Emilie Conroy is a good friend? No

That would depend on whether or not someone is a good friend to me--and also what the definition of "good" is.

Do you think that Emilie Conroy should have more self-confidence? No

Wow, I must pull off some magic online. I'm a quivering mass of clam jello.

Do you think that Emilie Conroy thinks shopping at Wal-Mart is classy? No

Classy? No. Necessary? Yes.

Do you think that Emilie Conroy still wet their bed in 6th grade? No

I don't think I ever wet my bed at all.

Do you think that Emilie Conroy likes British accents? Yes

I like all accents.

Do you think that Emilie Conroy sends too many Facebook invites? No

I sure try not to bug too many people too often.

Do you think Emilie Conroy was a Dork in high school? No

Thanks, but I was queen of the dorks. Hell, I'm still a dork.

Do you think that Emilie Conroy has ever lied to you? No

I tend to be pretty honest.

Do you think that Emilie Conroy has ever failed a class? No

Actually I failed a class in my first semester of college. But I made it up and all was well.

Do you think that Emilie Conroy looks good in a bathing suit? Yes

It's not the bathing suit, it's how I work it.

Do you think that Emilie Conroy is cute? Yes

Damn straight! ;>P

Do you think that Emilie Conroy has ever used steroids? No
Indeed, these bulging muscles are all natural.

Do you think that Emilie Conroy would let you cheat off their paper on a test? No

Right on.

Do you think that Emilie Conroy is a poser? No

But I posed for the centerfold of Weird Tales once...

Do you think that Emilie Conroy is trailer trash? No

I've tailgated a few times, but I'm not the butt of a Jeff Foxworthy joke.

Do you think that Emilie Conroy can throw a football with a spiral? Yes

In fact I worked to perfect this move.

Do you think Emilie Conroy is cool? Yes

You probably are, too.

Do you think that Emilie Conroy has ever skinny dipped? Yes

There are people here on Facebook who know the truth of this statement.

Do you think that Emilie Conroy would go bungee jumping? Yes

Been there, done that, not all it's cracked up to be.

Do you think that Emilie Conroy is a good athlete? No

Obviously this person hasn't competed with me physically.

Do you think that Emilie Conroy is socially awkward? Yes

Show me an honest person who won't admit to being a little awkward.

Do you think that Emilie Conroy can keep a secret? Yes

True enough. Who the hell would I tell?

Do you think that Emilie Conroy would do anything to succeed? No

I'm professionally ruthless, but I do have limits and ethics.


Do you think that Emilie Conroy has ever kissed a girl? Yes

Aren't we all a little bi somewhere?

Do you think that Emilie Conroy is a scrub? No
Thanks. What's a scrub?

Do you think that Emilie Conroy is smarter than George W. Bush? Yes
That's not saying much.

Do you think that Emilie Conroy has bad breath? No

Love those mints!

Do you think that Emilie Conroy has ever played beer pong? Yes

No. Yes. I don't remember, I was drunk at the time.

Damsel In Distress? Like Hell...

This has mystified me since I reached an age where chivalry and bravado and coming to the rescue as a romantic gesture began to make a little sense. For some reason beyond my ken, I inspire feelings of protectiveness and downright knightly behavior on the part of the men who come into my life. The women, too, but I'm not getting into that right now.

Now come on. I've always been able to stand up for myself whatever the circumstances. I'm no shy, fearful, retiring little flower in need of masculine (or feminine) brawn to shelter me from the icy rain pellets of a big bad world. Shit happens, wise people have said. The art of life is not to avoid shit happening, but rather to navigate through said shit and come out the other side stronger and wiser for the experience. Let me add one more step--AND THEN MOVE ON!

Look, I grieve like most other human beings. I get hurt, and I need time to get over and past the hurt. But my driving philosophy is to move on, whatever the circumstances. At this point in my life (I'll be 39 this year) I've been through enough heartbreak, sickness, and bereavement to know for a fact that life continues on the other side. Through experience I've learned to let go of pain. I hold on to what was good in any situation, bear no grudges, and take the whole as a new building block for the pyramid that is life.

So I've even had guys online coming to my defense, or something to that effect. And you know, I'm grateful to have instilled such love and loyalty in said people. But relax! Things are good for me. I'm not dwelling on what's finished and I don't regret anything I've done. Don't feel the need to rescue this damsel in distress. Why not climb up the tower so we can all celebrate what is basically an exciting and amazing life?

My Life According To Trent Reznor/NIN

Using only song names from ONE ARTIST, cleverly answer these questions. Pass it on to 15 people you like and include me. You can't use the band I used Try not to repeat a song title. It's a lot harder than you think! Repost as "my life according to (band name)".

Pick your Artist: Nine Inch Nails

Describe yourself: Somewhat Damaged

How Do You Feel: Underneath It All

Describe Where You Currently Live: Help Me I Am In Hell

If You Could go Anywhere, Where Would You Go? La Mer

Your Best Friend Is: Big Man With A Gun

Your Family Are: Down In It

What's the Weather Like: A Warm Place

Favorite Time of Day: The Only Time

If Your Life Was a TV Show, What Would It Be Called: Happiness In Slavery

What Is Life to You: Heresy

Your Relationship: Mr. Self Destruct

Your Fear: Something I Can Never Have

What Is the Best Advice You Have to Give: I Do Not Want This

Thought for the Day: Head Like A Hole

How I Would Like to Die: Last

My Soul's Present Condition: Dead Souls

The Blossom of Arundel (Historical Romance...ish) Part One

(NOTE: If I ever catch anyone lifting any part of this from this blog to be bastardized and used in some other manuscript, I will hunt you down like the slug that you are and do unimaginably bad things to you--stuff I learned with the Plutonian Guard Torture Squad. I mean it. Plagarism makes me dangerous. I'm putting this here solely for the entertainment of anybody surfing by and NOT to be picked at and regurgitated by some other author. Are we clear on this? Good. Enjoy!)

Cloridan de Bayeux? Impossible.
"Tis a good jest, my father," Fayre ventured. She let a nervous giggle slip from her pink lips. "You do give me the belly laughs."
Ethelred Cyewulf gave his daughter a wry smile as his hands met behind his back. "I do not jest, Fayre. The Baron of Arundel has asked for your hand in marriage."
Her emotions too frenzied to permit any other reaction, Fayre simply gaped. Then, she snapped to attention and collected herself with great dignity. "So what if he has? That means naught."
"Were it any other man, I would necessarily agree with you," Ethelred said. "But Cloridan is an incredibly important man, and to him I cannot say no."
Fayre could not breathe. The dim chamber seemed devoid of air. She fell back from her father in clumsy steps, shaking her head. "Nay," she cried. She turned her head and looked at the open window. "I would never defy you, my father, but I will throw myself to the ground before I will wed that fiend!"
Ethelred cried her name in tender despair. "No, daughter, say not such things. My heart would break, and I would die with you. Fayre, my beloved, I have no choice. If I could, I would let you choose your own husband, and you know that. But the king has ordered that you marry de Bayeux, and I can do nothing of it."
"The king? What interest can he have in my matrimony? He barely even spared a look for me when we went to London."
"His interest is for the Baron of Arundel, my dearest."
Her father had not needed to tell her this. Fayre knew well that King William cared only for his Norman vassals. She also realized William could not be entirely responsible for this ludicrous pairing. An arrogant Norman and a Saxon woman who despised him? No, if Fayre knew anything about Cloridan de Bayeux, she knew that he got what he wanted and no less.
"Tell me," she said, "to what degree was the arranging of this marriage de Bayeux's cunning?"
Ethelred narrowed his eyes. "I do not understand."
"Did Arundel ask the king to command this marriage?" Fayre snapped.
"I will not lie to you. He did so." Ethelred raised his shoulders in a slow shrug. "Cloridan is William's favorite, and he wanted you for his bride."
"What of Godwyn?"
"Fayre, here is truth. We are not living in optimal times, my little one. Any one of these Norman barons could have sought your hand. You are desirable, as you know, and as my daughter, you are a promise of an excellent alliance."
"I am naught but a pawn," Fayre wailed.
Ethelred took a deep, hesitant breath. "Tis not so. You are fortunate that Cloridan cast his eyes on you. He is by far the kindest and most gentle of the Norman barons I have encountered, and he will be good to you."
"Cloridan de Bayeux is not Godwyn!"
Ethelred swallowed his sympathy. "I hope you can see that I am concerned for your welfare, but my concern must fall within the king's orders. 'Tis better that you wed Cloridan than that you be claimed by a baron not quite so amiable, my Fayre. Have no doubts that were you to not marry Cloridan, another baron would be quite eager to take you for himself."
The very thought of submitting to Cloridan de Bayeux and fulfilling her proper wifely duties twisted Fayre's stomach. To think that arrogant, haughty man would lay his covetous hands on her flesh, that he would enjoy the gift of her virtue! Fayre clenched her fists and her teeth, fighting back the scream of frustration which threatened to burst from her lips.
She ducked her head, as if acknowledging a punch. The lies she told herself. Cloridan de Bayeux was the choicest bit of man she had ever seen. Her frustration came from her own pride wrestling with her more primal self, the part that wanted Cloridan. After all of her protestations, she could never admit to wanting him. 'Twould be admitting defeat.


"My darling, please try to make the best of this."
Rowyna Cynewulf twisted her thin hands as she looked at her daughter. She did not like the wedding plans any better than Fayre did. "'Tis a favor to your father, for the support he showed William."
Even now, two years after King Harold's fall at Senlac, Fayre did not know what to make of the man who called himself King of England. Her father had been one of several Saxon noblemen to agree that the Duke of Normandy was the rightful English king. All through the countryside, rumor spread that Edward the Confessor had, on his deathbed, named William to be the next king. To Fayre, it made no sense for anyone to oppose Edward's choice, as The Confessor had been a loved and pious king. In fact, William had not his own wile to acknowledge for his success, but more Harold's lack of support and conviction.
Still, a part of Fayre could not deny that England slipped away from her people, as William turned more land over to his Norman vassals
Fayre stroked the arm of the chair, mulling over her mother's words. "'Tis the king's wish that all of his barons take Saxon noblewomen as wives. He seems to think that will make his rule more secure."
"Even among our own people, kings and barons wed and made unions where it would do them the most good. Marriage has ever been a way of sealing alliances."
"Father explained all of that to me. But the fighting is over and the Normans have won. Why must the king continue to strengthen his throne?"
"One battle does not make a war. William may have won his crown, but he has had to fight to keep it. And he will need to continue fighting so long as any man has enough spirit to oppose him. Do you hate the Baron of Arundel so much, Fayre?"
Meeting her mother's clear eyes, Fayre knew she could not hide her true feelings. "Nay, I don't hate him. But I am irritated that he had meddled with my life. Because of him, I cannot marry Godwyn."
"But you loved not Godwyn, either," Rowyna said.
"At least I wanted to marry him," Fayre answered with force.


Fayre sauntered into the great hall, her radiance disguising the sickly turmoil within her.
How it aggravated her to see Cloridan meander about the great hall, mingling with the feast guests as if he were home in his own castle. She wished everyone in the hall could share just a little of her hostility, that Cloridan might not look so arrogant and comfortable.
Fayre moped about the hall, barely acknowledging any greetings offered her. She knew her face was turned in a most unpleasant scowl, but she could not help herself. This silly revelry, this celebration, bore away at her very nerves. Where was the cause for celebration in this accursed betrothal?
Her eyes glanced up towards the high table, where her own seat remained vacant. Ethelred's big blue eyes followed her around the room, full of sympathy and compassion, and Fayre was almost inclined to return to the table for his sake. But then, she saw the true cause of her unrest and abandoned that notion.
Fayre examined her future husband as she might examine a work of art. An inherent strength and sensuality kindled Cloridan's excellent features. His smooth skin was pulled taut over his elegant cheekbones, and his thin, firm lips frequently spread into the devilish smile which made his amusement with everything completely evident. Two merry spheres of dark green sparkled from under the fringe of his thick, dark eyelashes. Cloridan wore his silky black hair down to below his strong shoulders in the Saxon fashion, yet he was clean shaven like the Normans. He cut an unmistakeable figure in the gathering, towering over all other men and dwarfing the ladies.
As always, Cloridan had dressed himself in scarlet for the feast. Never had Fayre seen him wear any other color. She figured he fancied scarlet for the way it complemented his fair complexion and raven hair.
Fayre had admitted to herself long ago that the Count of Sussex was a handsome man. But beauty counted for naught, she knew. He was a Norman, and in her own mind, he therefore could not be trusted.
Cloridan raised his eyes to look across the hall, to gaze at Fayre, and she experienced a small victory as she watched his milky cheeks flush crimson. He sought her eyes, he sought to make that contact with her, but Fayre would not allow it.
"Fayre," spoke a furtive male voice from behind her. Fayre spun around and greeted Alfred, her father's most competent courtier. He did not look content. "Your father and the Baron of Arundel have asked that you take your place with them at the high table."
"My father is familiar with my discontent, and I therefore believe he will understand why I do not comply." Fayre's laugh was icy. "As for the Norman fiend, I do not follow his commands. I am not his subject."
"Please, Fayre. Tis most awkward for Ethelred to preside over his daughter's betrothal feast without your presence. Your father made his volition very clear to me, and I do not doubt I will fall under his great displeasure should I fail him."
"Now that is wisdom--holding you responsible for my actions," Fayre muttered. "Yet I would not see you get into trouble for my sake." With that, Fayre followed Alfred to the head table.
Ethelred leaned forward and looked past his wife, to his daughter. "I am pleased that you would join us," he said in his gentle manner. "I would not have that my beloved daughter be apart from me on this day."
Fayre did not respond, for she was too well aware of the hungry eyes of the Baron of Arundel upon her.
"Fie on you, Arundel!" Baron Godwyn of Penenden stormed into the great hall, his angry voice booming up to the eaves. Cloridan cocked his eyebrow at the fur-clad intruder, but said nothing as Godwyn boldly approached Baron Cynewulf. "Your daughter is pledged to me, Ethelred, and you know it well. What travesty is this--that I hear you would hand your daughter to this dog de Bayeux?"
Fayre clenched her fists, fuming silently as the people about her collectively sucked in their breaths. She met Godwyn's agonized eyes for a moment, clearly communicating her distaste for her situation to him.
Ethelred breathed deeply. "My dear Baron, I, like all of us, must act according to the express wishes of our king William. 'Twas he who ordered me to betrothe my daughter to the Baron of Arundel. If you dispute the arrangement, I bid you travel to London and take up the matter with our king himself."
But Godwyn was no longer listening. He had turned his attention to Cloridan de Bayeux, and now stepped towards the towering man, attempting an air of menace. "How dare you make claim to what is mine," Godwyn hissed. "You Norman dogs may claim our lands, but you have no business taking our fair Saxon maidens!"
Cloridan dismissed Godwyn's ire with a quick shrug. "Tis not so, quite simply. The lady Fayre was an unclaimed maiden, whatever private designs you may have had on her hand. She is free to wed, and her father, the king, and myself have reached a concord that she will marry me. There is no more, Penenden."
"Perhaps not to you." Godwin turned again to look on Fayre, his eyes brimming with a desperate tenderness. "I courted Fayre for my love of her, not for what alliances she could bring me. We had agreed, she and I, to wed. If Fayre gave me her hand by her own will, there is no claim greater."
The Baron of Arundel coolly contemplated the young Saxon man, obviously thinking over Godwyn's words. Yet he also was clearly of no mind to pay Godwyn heed on this matter. "Even were I of a mind to relinquish Fayre, I could not," he finally spoke. "The king has ordered this marriage."



Fayre longed to flee the great hall, to retreat into the private haven of her chamber upstairs in the donjon. She did not eagerly anticipate her inevitable encounters with either Arundel or Penenden. Neither man was likely to let her slip away from this feasting without speaking to her, however much she wished to be left alone.
But Cloridan de Bayeux had quickly taken leave from her father after the meal to come find her. Hide as she tried, slipping her small, lithe form behind columns or guests, Cloridan followed her relentlessly. Finally, she spun around to face him, placing her hands on her hips. "Need I make my lack of interest any more evident to you, Count de Bayeux?" she asked flippantly, speaking in broken French.
Cloridan burst into deep laughter, clearly delighted by her spirited outburst. "Ah, Fayre, you are as fond of me as you have ever been. It soothes my heart to see you have not grown docile."
"Nor shall I ever, so if you are hoping to tame me in our accursed marriage, I invite you to part with such follies this instant. Twould take a better man than you to curb my ire."
"On the contrary, I would weep piteously should you ever be tamed, my little Fayre," he replied coyly. "But have you no kinder words for your future husband? It is our engagement feast, after all."
"No kinder words for one so arrogant as to remind me of my ill fortune!"
Cloridan tisked, cocking his head cynically. "Such wrath from my betrothed. A lesser man than I would beat that wrath straight out of you."
"He would need catch me first," she replied proudly.
With a twinkle in his eyes, Cloridan stood firm. "I can catch you, Fayre."
"Your conceit is tremendous."
"It is truth. I have already caught you, you see."
"You have taken me from my proper betrothed," she hissed, her eyes aflame.
"Penenden is a mere boy," he retorted calmly. "You of all women need more than a boy for your husband."
"He is more a man than you! At least he had the courage to court me openly, not cower and go to the king behind my back."
Cloridan raised his eyebrows as he gave a quick shrug. "Then he hasn't my wit, has he? If he had gotten to William before I did and requested to marry you, his claim would have been assured. We leave for our home two days hence, Fayre. He grabbed her hand and pressed something cold into her palm. "Though you scorn me, Fayre, I will treasure you," Cloridan uttered.
Fayre looked into her palm. There lay a breathtaking jewel, a brooch intricately worked of silver, cradling a luminescent stone. "Tis a moonstone," she said in surprise.
Cloridan nodded, lowering his eyes to gaze down at the alluring stone. "I was very fortunate, actually. On my way to Canterbury did I encounter a peddler of exotic wares. I saw this brooch, and thought of you immediately. Nothing of the ordinary would suit a lady such as you, I believed."
In spite of herself, Fayre was warmed by the precious gift and by his words. "Then I thank you for the brooch," she said in a civil voice. "Tis a sweet gesture. I have always wanted a moonstone."
"I understand that the wearer of a moonstone will have clear sight into the future." Cloridan met her slightly softened eyes. "It is my wish that you might look into your future with me and find joy there."

Cloridan bowed and offered a courteous comment. Giggling, Sibley spoke under her hand. "What did he say, Fayre?"
"I said I am honored, my lady. The fair maidens of Cynewulf are lovely enough to bring a blush to any man's cheeks," Cloridan said.
Fayre's pink lips parted in her surprise. "You speak English!"
Cloridan gave her a soft smile, thrilling in her approval. "A little. I am learning, anyway. How else can I communicate with my people?"
"Perhaps Fayre can help you, my lord," Sibley said. "She has taught me many things."
Fayre could not help but be impressed. That Cloridan would bother to learn her tongue indeed warmed her heart to him, just a bit.


"I think the feast went well, don't you?" Ethelred stood at his study window, his hands joined behind his back.
"With the exception of Penenden making a scene and Fayre despising me, I would agree with you." Cloridan sat back in his chair and sipped from his tankard of ale. "Neither situation bodes well for my marriage, Ethelred."
Turning from the window, Ethelred said, "Godwyn is just an angry boy. He will come to see reason, I know it."
Cloridan arched an eyebrow. "And your daughter?"
Cloridan studied the older man, trying to find the lies in Ethelred's face. He had expected Fayre to be tart with him, as she always was. Under the circumstances, Cloridan could understand why Fayre would hate him, and he prayed he could earn a sweeter consideration from her. But Godwyn of Penenden had taken him by complete surprise.
"Why didn't you tell me Fayre was betrothed?"
Ethelred shifted in his seat under Cloridan's angry stare. His lips open and shut several times before he managed to speak. "I didn't think 'twas important. I knew the king would acknowledge your claim to my daughter over Penenden's."
Cyenewulf had meant no harm. That much was obvious. "But it is important. How can I expect Fayre to be a good wife to me when she preferred to marry another?"
"Fayre will adjust, I know it." Ethelred laced his fingers. "She understands what is for the good of this land."
Cloridan clenched his fists in frustration. Cynewulf could not see the problem. "I care about her, Ethelred."
"As do I. She is my daughter, after all."
"She has every right to hate me," Cloridan said, leaning his palms down on the table. "I didn't know she was to be married. You asked me to take her to wife, and so I asked the king, and I never knew she had a love already. Now I've taken her from the man she loves. Do you think she will ever forgive me?"
"Let me tell you my story. My Rowyna was a present to me from her father, a great thane. She detested me as much as Fayre claims to detest you, at least. But my heart was soft, and I fell in love with Rowyna. I determined that I would woo her with tenderness and affection after our wedding, for I had no time to be her suitor before. My Rowyna's every desire I saw fulfilled. For all her loathing of me, she was obedient and dutiful. I rewarded her with anything she wished, and with all of my love. And finally, one eve as she tended a wound of mine, her sweet eyes met mine and she whispered the words I had been longing to hear. Rowyna told me she loved me, too."
The Count of Bayeux widened his eyes. "And what then, Ethelred?"
Ethelred giggled as he looked into his ale. "About nine moons later, our Fayre was born to us."
"What romance! I see how happy you are with your wife."
"Yes, and you can find the same happiness if you follow my example." Ethelred swished his ale around in the tankard. "Be patient with Fayre. Brook her disobedience and her high spirits."
"It is her spirit which has captured my imagination," Cloridan said.
Cloridan had already decided to woo Fayre Cynewulf in their marriage. Ethelred's enthusiasm and confidence strengthened Cloridan's resolve to give Fayre all of his best. Cloridan could not deny he wanted Fayre. For three long years she had haunted his thoughts, and he wanted nothing more than to be her husband. But he was wiser than to think replacing Godwyn of Penenden in her heart would be easy to do.
Not for the first time, Cloridan doubted his marriage arrangements. 'Twas what he wanted, but that meant nothing if Fayre would be miserable. He would be taking her away from her family and her love to live with him in a castle at the end of the world, away from the safe haven of Canterbury to the wild danger of Arundel.

About Last Night

Maxine went to the room next door. At the familiar beckoning yell she pushed open the poster-covered door and walked in, as she was used to doing. "Thought you'd find your way here, Maxie," Anders said.

Puzzled, she said, "You knew I was coming?"

He laughed. "Well, no, actually that's a quote from some movie or other."

She nodded, but didn't laugh, and this let Anders know something was up. "What's wrong, Punkin?"

Maxine dropped to the floor, sitting cross legged. "Anders, I really messed up this time."

"Your roomies were worried sick about you last night," he said, not chastising, but concerned. "I was too. Julia was hoping you'd be up for a trip into town last night. Good thing your bro was with Scarlett! He would have gone bollistic if he'd been here." Anders stopped, watching Maxine carefully. "So what happened to you? Where'd you go?"

She dawdled purposefully, sticking her hands in her pockets, examining the posters on the walls. Great, she thought. So she'd not only screwed herself over with her stupid libido, but she'd fucked with people she loved, too. Made everyone's life just a little more hellish. Not too bad for one Friday night. "You up for a drive, boy?" she asked.

Anders ran his hand through his sandy blonde hair. "Ooooh boy, one of those nights, eh?"

"You wouldn't believe it."

"Try me, Maxie," Anders said, winking. "But sure, I'm up for a drive." He grabbed either side of her head and shook it gently. "But are you?"

Maxine paused. "I'm pretty okay. I'm fine to drive. I think it might help clear my head." She flipped a few stray curls out of her face. "And I'll tell you what happened, if you really feel like being burdened."

"Deal, Punkin," he said, kissing her messily on the brow. Then he stepped back, trying to appear comforting. "Look, whatever happened, it can't be as bad as all that. You've got us behind you, remember that."

Maxine smiled weakly, pulling her car keys from her pocket. They left Anders' room and walked down the hall to the stairway. Fortunately for Maxine, she glanced out the window. She gave a little scream as she recognized Byron, her lover, coming towards the dorm, carrying something in his hands. Blanching, Maxine clasped her hands to her head. "Shit!" she exclaimed. "It's him!"

Anders wrinkled his brow, tilting his sunglasses. "Who, Punkin?"

"Byron," she answered hotly, and Anders looked at her, uncomprehending. Maxine paced a little. "Nevermind." She grabbed Anders' hand and began pulling him down the hallway, past her own room, to the other stairway. Of all the things she needed right then, to be so directly confronted with the previous night was the least of them. What did Byron want?

"I'm lost, Punkin," Anders declared.

"I told you I'd explain everything."

"Why are you running from Byron?" Anders asked as he followed her down the steps. "I thought women were supposed to run to him, Punkin."

"Now look you, don't you go getting all squirrely on me," Anders said, shaking his finger at Maxine. "Don't you go equating sex and guilt and shame! If you start it, then there's no hope for any of us."

"I'm not," she answered loudly, tightening her grip on the steering wheel. They were coming north along I-26, just before the junction with I-95. Maxine had easily been able to keep the Sunbird at 87 miles an hour since getting out of Charleston, and she was feeling much better.

"Anders, I'm not ashamed of what happened," she affirmed. "Shame has nothing to do with it. I've fucked up too many times to be ashamed anymore."

"Then how do you feel?"

"I just feel a little stupid. I mean, if he had come up to me and said, "Hello, I'd like to fuck you", and I had said, "I'd like to fuck you too", and if that was all there had been to it, I wouldn't be bothered."

"So what's the frenzy, Punkin?" Anders asked, lowering his sunglasses. "I don't think I'm clear on this."

Maxine sighed. "A fuck put into the context of making love is disconcerting," she said, and Anders regarded her strangely. "Come on, man, you know what I mean. All the delicacy and the tenderness and the chivalry--that's not what a quickie is all about."

"Doesn't sound like you had a quickie."

"I didn't." Maxine grumbled. "Damnit, Anders, I'm not putting any of this well."

Anders pointed ahead. "Any interest in a Waffle House? Maybe some grits and coffee will help you explain a little better."

Maxine realized she hadn't eaten since the previous afternoon. That, and the exit provided a good spot to turn around. If she felt like going back. "Yeah, I could use some grease," she said, moving the Sunbird onto the exit.

Maxine found the Waffle House comfortingly crowded as the waitress led her and Anders to a small booth. They both ordered coffees, Maxine requesting decaffeinated, and grits, Maxine asking for no butter. The waitress looked at her strangely, but jotted down her request. "Good thing you've got the accent, Punkin," Anders noted. "I'd be scared in here otherwise."

Maxine put two fingers to her throat. "My accent?"

"It's not real thick," Anders said. "It's been diluted, I would guess. But there's no mistaking you're a southern belle."

"It's an Irish accent, actually," she corrected, speaking in her brogue. "I grew up in the Emerald Isle, after all."

"Oh, that's right," Anders conceded with a smirk. "I'm so used to hearing your voice that I forget."

The waitress returned, pouring their coffee. "So more about Byron, please," he requested. "So far I know that he loves you and that you slept with him."

"No, he said he loves me," corrected Maxine. "That's not the same."

Anders waved his hand in dismissal. "Whatever. It's pretty obvious to me, Punkin, that you're real special to him. It's in his eyes, babe. I believe he could dig you that deeply without any problem."

"Byron gets lots of girls, I'm sure," Maxine spat. "Don't all these hunks have some kind of quota to fill? I was just another stat."

"Byron is not your average stud muffin, Punkin," Anders said, dripping syrup over his grits. "I don't think he collects women--he's way too sensitive. It would kill him. I think he's a one-woman man in his heart. I don't think he's the kind of guy to lure a girl back to his pad with some nice words, and then skip out on her, know what I mean?" Maxine stared down into her black coffee, dismally. "Yeah, sure, he's a celeb. So what? He's no different from you or me. We all bleed when cut."

"It sucks because we were really good friends," she pouted. "And then I fall for the 'I love you' line, and that's all over."

"If it's all over, Punkin, then he wasn't much of a friend to begin with, was he?"

"That's true."

Anders regarded Maxine intently. "Maxine, Byron is a good guy. We all know that. I just cannot imagine that he would pull the stud one-nighter hell gag on you. And especially not on you!"

Begrudgingly, Maxine nodded in agreement. "What about his fiancee?" she demanded. "Am I supposed to be her replacement? How do I fare as a little, red, decrepit caboose to that sleek silver bullet?"

Anders giggled. "You underate yourself, Maxine. You're no caboose. You've got the goods, and you don't even know it." He looked at her with a lopsided grin. "There's not one male in this entire project that doesn't think you're gorgeous, me included. But you knew that."

"Well, there was Adam, and then a couple of guys have asked me out, but--"

"But nothing! Punkin, Samantha's a fake. I bet there's not one natural piece left on her entire body."

Giggling, Maxine dripped some coffee out of her mouth. "I don't know," she said, wiping her mouth off, still giggling. "She does pour pancake batter on her face every morning, though."

Anders catapulted empty sugar packets with his spoon. "I guarantee you that most guys would rather be with a real Maxine than a fake Samantha. And Byron is definitely one of us most guys. You, Punkin, are the winner in that beauty battle."

"Doesn't change the fact that Byron is engaged to her," Maxine pointed out.

Anders reached across the table and tapped Maxine in her head. "Are you home? That whole engagement thing's just a joke of some sort, Punkin. Byron and Samantha don't even like each other. You should know that."

"Then why did he get engaged to her in the first place?" Maxine wondered. "Anders, why make the committment? I don't get it."

Anders shrugged. "Gotta be that Hollywood thing," he theorized. "Media blitz to push the most handsome actor and the prettiest cover girl into a couple. Totally fabricated, good for their careers, and who cares if they hate each other?"

Maxine shook her head, exhaling. "One of the reasons that I applied for this stint," she said, stirring sugar into her grits, "was that I wanted to get a glimpse into the Hollywood mind, you know? How do they think differently from the rest of us, and why." She sipped her coffee. "Now I've had a nice intimate sampling, and I still have no clue."

Anders laughed hard enough to turn the heads of the other patrons. "Maxie, you rule," he said, calming himself. "But having someone tell you they're in love with you is a pretty heavy duty thing," Anders mused. "Even in Hollywood."

Maxine shrugged, waving her hand dismissively. "Ack, that embarasses the crap out of me," she said. "I feel like I walked right into a role."

Anders looked her straight in the eyes. "Do you love Byron, Punkin?"

"What difference does it make?"

"Lots. Do you love Byron?"

She rolled her eyes. "That's a silly question, Anders."

"Well, do you?"

"Anders!" Maxine truly did not want to discuss her own feelings.

"Okay, let me ask you this," he said, changing his approach. "Were you able to climax with him?"

Maxine covered her face with her hands and groaned. "Why should I tell you that?"

"Because if you did, not only do you probably love him, but he loves you," Anders concluded. "I read it somewhere, I don't remember where. Being comfortable with each other, usually through love."

Maxine drummed her long fingers on the tabletop. "Alright. Yes. I did. Several times."

Anders slapped his own face in a comic gesture. "Hmmm--so that means you felt enough into the sitch to relax, and that he must have taken long enough for you to--"

"I get the picture, Anders," Maxine said firmly.

"Do you? Should I draw it for you?"

Maxine twisted her mouth. "I hate this love business, Anders," she said. "I've been in love twice. The first time, I ended up with his brains splattered all over me, and the second time he turned out to be a twisted neurotic closet moron." She paused to sip her coffee. "You can understand why love makes me nervous."

"Makes us all nervous," he said through his laughter. "That's why we do it. All part of the fun of the merry go round."

"There's no merry go round here, Anders. Let's outline this," she said. "Byron is engaged to Samantha. Byron tells me he loves me. I stupidly spend the night with Byron. Next I get told it was fun but Samantha is his fiancee. End of story."

Anders shook his palms at Maxine. "You're missing the connectors, Punkin. Byron hates Samantha, Byron is stuck in a media trap. You, Maxie, are not a media trap. Byron is in love with you, so you guys do the natural thing folks in love do. And Samantha gets squeezed out of the picture forever. The end of the story is that Byron loves you for real, and that is what you have over Samantha, by far."

Maxine leaned her head on her fist, pondering. "So you think he was serious, is what you're saying?"

Drinking his coffee, Anders shrugged. "The guy's been gaga for you since day one, I know that much. Doubt there's anybody on the project who doesn't know that."

"And now he hates me because I ducked out on him."

"You're indulging in silliness, Punkin," Anders insisted. "I think he'll understand why you bolted, if you explain it to him. If I were him, I'd want to know more about the gymnastic abilities involved in that escape you made." He chuckled.

"Okay, so let's say that Byron and I are," she cleared her throat, "in love. I go back to the island and I find him and we get caught up in the whirlwind of passion-related shit. What happens next?"

Anders chewed on his spoon. "Well that's a silly question, Max! Who knows what comes next for any of us?"

Black Bird, Why Do You Seek Me?

No matter how I've tried to shake him off, he still comes after me with the ferocity of a hunting carnivore--not the cunning of a carrion feeder. I close my eyes and I see the black bird, the same black bird who has been with me for all of this life and perhaps in other lives as well. For some reason I wanted to shake the bird but he's only come back thirteen times as powerful. I realize now that I cannot run from my heritage--from the blood of my ancestors which now flows through me--and that the black bird, the Great Raven, will always seek me out no matter where I am. My question to myself now is do I want to embrace him as forcefully as I have done before, do I want to have done with him and pursue my new existence, or can I possibly keep the Great Raven in my heart and continue to move forward? I will ponder with care.