W/ apologies to Brian Pulido, for the

mangling of his original script

San Francisco
        John Dawson switched the car off and got out, wincing as the strong wind blew an icy blast of sleet across his face. He locked up and dashed over to the ATM set into the wall of the bank two hundred metres away, fumbling his card out of his wallet as he went. Jesus, what a night. He had another one hundred and fifty miles to go tonight and he needed gas. He had gotten a phone call from his sister twenty minutes ago telling him that their mother had been rushed into hospital w/ a heart attack and he had raced straight out of the house. And, of course, he had forgotten to pick up his credit card. He stood gratefully in the lee of the bank and shoved his card into the slot, stabbing his PIN into the keypad. The wind barreled down the alleyway to his right, hooting mournfully and driving an empty Budweiser bottle noisily out into the street. He had just requested one hundred bucks and w/drawn his card when the cold hard metal jammed into his neck.
         "Gimme the money and your wallet."
         "Wh-what?" Dawson squeaked in fright, his mind reeling helplessly. It was so unexpected that he didn't seem to be able to make sense of what was happening.
         The gun was shoved harder against his throat. "Don't f*ck w/ me! Don't play stupid and give me the goddamn wallet!" The man pushed Dawson back against the wall of the bank and snatched the money that had appeared in the slot of the ATM. He was tall and slim, well muscled and unshaven, and looked like he hadn't slept in a week. His eyes were a dirty brown, cold and hard. Just looking at them made Dawson's legs turn to water. He looked frantically up and down the street, desperately looking for help. How could it be this deserted, even at quarter to three in the morning? Where were the goddamn night owls that normally hung around the night clubs? Where were the goddamn cops?
         The gun barrel moved and cracked him hard across the jaw. "Give me your wallet! F*cking NOW!" He held it out, his hand shaking badly, trying hard not to wet himself, praying for the man to just take the thing and leave him alone. The man snatched it out of his grasp and then jerked his head in the direction of the parking lot. "That your car?"
        Dawson gaped mutely. Oh god, not my car! "N….n…n-no."
        The gun barrel smashed into his temple, driving him to his knees. "You f*cking liar! I saw you drive up you  piece of sh*t! Gimme your keys!"
        "No please! My mother -"
        The man wasn't interested in Dawson's mother. He drove his steel-capped motorcycle boot into Dawson's gut and as he fell to his knees, retching and gasping, he brought the butt of the pistol down on the top of his head. The crunch of steel against scalp was impressive, even over the howling wind. Dawson went down like a sack of gravel. The man glanced up and down the street - completely deserted - then bent and quickly went through Dawson's pockets, taking his keys and giving him another kick for good measure. He stood up, ignoring the thick trail of blood flowing from Dawson's head - the possibility that he just might have committed manslaughter was of no interest to him; all that mattered was meeting his doctor on the corner of Seventh and Mill. For his medicine.
        He had been running in a gang since he was fourteen, had been locked up for two years for an assault that had put two people on the critical list, and he had killed at least five people that he knew of during his many turf fights, but when he turned around he still embarrassed himself by giving a little shriek. He couldn't help it. A demon stood before him. Or, to be really precise, a demoness. She stood not six feet away, and how she had gotten there, from an empty street and w/out him hearing her, was a mystery he would never figure out. She stood maybe an inch or two smaller than him, but her body was the body of an expert martial artist or gymnast, all beautifully toned muscle and not a gram of excess fat. He could tell that because she was only wearing a bikini and a waist sash for Christ's sake. A black leather bikini, and thigh high boots, and elbow length gloves. He might have thought that she was a member of the S&M club a block over, what w/ her skull-shaped shoulder armour and all, if it wasn't for the fact that she had horns on her head. And wings. Those horns could have been glued on, but those wings…well, maybe they could have been some sort of fake costume type thing, but even if they were, there was her red skin to consider. And her eyes. Oh dear sweet Jesus, her eyes. They were white, shining like a full moon but giving off no light. And they were cold, colder than the night.
        Cold. And hungry.
        A brief thought rocketed through his mind : the brief possibility - the brief hope - that this was some sort of hallucination brought on by his craving for another fix, but one look into those eyes convinced him otherwise. He raised his gun and plugged three bullets into her. Or would have done, if she had still been standing there. Some time between levelling the Glock at her and squeezing the trigger she moved from six feet in front of him to right next to his left side, and he never even saw her do it. His arm had been snapped before the first shell casing clinked onto the pavement and he had a moment of awed wonder, even through the drug haze and the terror, to realise that this slender creature had lifted him up w/ one hand, and then he was thrown through the air and slammed into a lamp post, snapping his spine in two. He flopped onto the ground like a discarded rag and squealed wordlessly as she straddled him, sitting on his chest and grinding his broken vertebrae together, then she pushed his head back and he felt her teeth open up his throat. Black shapes danced around the circle of yellow light above him, light that framed her like a halo as she straightened up and spat some of his blood into his face.
        "Gaahhh! What manner of pathetic ape puts poison into his own veins?" Her voice was sweet music and he found himself opening his mouth to try and explain his habit, how he had started off  trying to be cool w/ the other members of the gang, how he had suddenly found himself needing more and more and telling himself that he wouldn't die on his own puke the way Cheryl had, or waste away from a dirty needle like Zack had, as though some explanation might give him salvation, but the words leaked out of the hole in his neck before he could say them. She didn't seem to be interested anyway. Those eyes, those beautiful cold eyes, shone contemptuously down at him. "Maggot. You don't deserve the peace death would give you. Luckily for you, however -" she smiled, and the sight of those long sharp teeth filled him w/ a sweet boiling terror "- I'm thirsty."
        They were the last words he heard.
        Purgatori stood up wiped the blood from her lips, grimacing in displeasure. Human blood was thin and tasteless at the best of times, but when it was mixed w/ whatever chemicals this germ had seen fit to put inside himself it was downright unpleasant. The meal had been unsatisfying and worthless. It was like giving a man desperate for a glass of vintage champagne a teaspoonful of tepid tap water. She was still hungry. She was angry, angry that she still had to find food, angry that she was here in this rotten city - on this despicable planet - angry that she was being distracted by some indefinable feeling that nibbled at the very edges of her perception, leaving her w/ a feeling that somebody was watching her.
        The wind gusted around her, driving the sleet hard against her bare skin, whipping her long hair into her face, and she spat a loud curse at that whore who had banished her here. She hated Purgatori, and had wanted to punish her for everything Purgatori had done to her. She could have plunged her sword into Purgatori's chest and pierced her heart, or could have taken her head w/ one easy swipe, but oh no, that miserable little cow had thrown her though a portal to the Nexus, that mysterious ethereal doorway that linked all places and all times, and by luck or design Purgatori had ended up in the very place she would have gladly exchanged death for. Once. But not any more. That deep suffocating suicidal depression that had engulfed her for the first few weeks of her imprisonment here - for imprisonment was exactly what it was; she had lost her teleportation ability along w/ her resistance to sunlight and her shapeshifting powers and Horus knew what other talents she had once possessed - had gone now, and she had been running on high-octane hate ever since. Hate, and a burning desire to pay back the bitch who had sent her here.
        She jumped into the air w/ one smooth push of her legs and her wings took over, beating strongly and lifting her quickly and easily into the safe darkness above the streetlights. She soared, criss-crossing streets and parks, looking for loners. It seemed to be getting harder each night, another fact that added to her anger. She was soaked. She was freezing cold. She was dirty. She was hungry. She was weak.
        She was lonely.
        As usual. She would have thought, after almost four millennia, that she would have been used to being alone and being lonely, but no matter how often she told herself it didn't bother her she didn't seem to be able to convince herself. All she had ever wanted was someone to love her, and four thousand years ago it seemed that her dream had come true. But that dream had lasted only a brief year, an eye-blink in Purgatori's life span, and then she had been betrayed, spurned, cast aside and almost murdered for the selfish whim of her lover.
        And now, after all these years, it still hurt her.
        She dove down towards the road angrily, trying to let the joy of flying take away the sting of pain that was growing inside her, but even that, one of her purest joys, brought no pleasure this night. The sleet and wind disturbed her normally smooth gliding, the beautiful stars - usually blurred and obscured even on a good night by the smoke and dirt that these cattle saw fit to pump into the air every second of every hour - were gone, hidden by the bulky cumulo nimbus clouds that were stacked up over the grimy city. And anyway, she had more -
        Something like a  bright chromium blade slammed into her mind, jamming into her brain and twisting. Purgatori howled in agony and clutched her head, all coherent thought gone. Her wings folded and she plummeted like a shot eagle, but she wasn't even aware of that until it was nearly too late. The clenching of her stomach finally fought its way into her mind and she twisted instinctively, getting her feet underneath her and flaring her wings like an airbrake. It was too little too late. She hit the wet tarmac hard, twisting her ankles, falling to her knees and then onto her face, lacerating her cheek. Blood flowed from her lip and eyebrow. She struggled to her hands and knees and suddenly the whole world bleached white as scalding bright light flooded over her. A deafening cacophony of noises - the loud blast of a car horn, the roar of a big engine, the scream of rubber on tarmac - pierced her ears and she jerked around to see the vehicle a half-second before it hit her.
        It was a Toyota Land Cruiser. It was huge, and heavy, and it hit her hard. Cold wet metal slammed into her body and head and smashed her across the road. It could have just as easily dragged her under and pulped her beneath the wide tyres, but Purgatori was in no condition to count her blessings. Most of the left side of her body was shattered and her wings were broken as she tumbled across the rough tarmac, stripping yards of skin off her body.
        She lay inert, fetched up against the kerbstone, face down in the filthy slush. She didn't hear the rending crash of metal and glass as the Toyota hit a lamp post. The mangled body of the driver punched halfway through the windscreen, slid back twitching into the cockpit. The horn blared incessantly, and gradually the irritating noise burrowed into Purgatori's mind and dragged her up from the black depths. Pain. All over. Her head felt as if it was in a vice. A vice w/ spiked steel jaws. She rolled over and yowled miserably as all the sharp ends of her broken bones shifted inside her. She couldn't move her legs. Panic scuttled over her like a large spider and she pushed herself into a sitting position. Bones stuck out of her left forearm and thigh. She looked at them dully for a moment then realised what she was seeing and that large arachnid was joined by lots of its friends.
         NO! Concentrate! Use your magick!
        Easier said than done. The pain in her head was horrendous, the panic persistent, but she finally managed to clear her mind enough to work her sorcery. The force of her will meshed neatly w/ the now vastly depleted power w/in her, and her bones retreated inside her skin, the flesh sealing over them flawlessly. Something grated in her skull and another searing blast of pain made her fall backwards.
        Noise. That horn, blaring away maddeningly. And sirens. Far off, but getting closer. She opened her eyes and saw the clouds above her, out of reach. Move Purgatori. If anybody sees you, you'll be in trouble. Move. She wiggled a foot, and felt it move. Good. But not good enough. She appeared to have expended her healing powers, and she was still far from repaired. Time and rest would recharge her power - that, or more blood - but time she didn't have, and rest was not an option. She rolled onto her stomach and fought her way to all fours, then to her feet, and stood swaying drunkenly by the pavement, holding onto a newspaper vending machine for support. The world spun around her, making her queasy. She hung her head, trying to clear her vision, and stinging blood flowed down her face into her eyes.  When she looked up again, the world was still blurred, but at least it had stopped gyrating. The sirens were closer now, maybe only three or four blocks away. She stood helplessly, completely at a loss as to what to do. She needed shelter, a place to hole-up and heal, to hide from the sun, but the place she had been staying in - an abandoned and derelict steel factory on the outskirts of town - was miles away, and one of her wings still dragged limply on the ground.
        She scanned her surroundings, wiping the blood and sleet from her face to try and focus on the signs and buildings around her. They all seemed as though they were still in use or still occupied. There was a drug store, empty and locked up but w/ the interior lit up probably to discourage theft. The majority of the right hand side of the road was a parking lot, sparsely populated w/ vehicles, and fortunately devoid of patrons. On this side was a café at the corner of the junction, and a tall ornate building that appeared to be a museum of some sort. The building across from her - what was that?
        She limped across the road, no longer having the luxury of caring whether or not anyone saw her. It was a squat, one storey building, fairly grimy. A square of paintwork stood out fresher than the rest, suggesting that some sort of notice had recently been removed, but the door was still chained and padlocked, and the window glass - where they weren't plastered over w/ fly posters -  were almost opaque w/ dirt. There. It had to be there. She made it across the road, the exertion making the tarmac feel like she was walking on a trampoline again, and then managed to slip into the narrow filthy alley that ran between the building and the public rest rooms next door. She crashed into a pair of steel dustbins and they clattered over w/ enough noise to raise the dead. Something large and furry leapt onto the top of the pile of cardboard boxes next to her and tried to streak past her out of the alley. She snatched the cat up, rather surprised her reactions and co-ordination were still working that well, and tore its throat open and drained it w/ one sucking gulp. Horrible, fetid blood, but blood was blood and blood gave energy. She took what she could get gratefully.
        More shrieking rubber, and the street outside the alley was filled w/ strobing red and blue light. She ducked further back into the gloom of the alley, and saw a small window, barely three feet square, at head height, boarded over w/ a sheet of rough pine. She punched the board in - it had been affixed from the inside - and wriggled her way gracelessly inside. Her wings snagged on the frame, she squeezed them through painfully, and then she was through, falling clumsily to the floor in the pitch blackness. She landed on something soft that cushioned her fall - it felt like a huge pile of plastic sheeting - and for a long time she just lay there, shaking w/ the pain and exertion and cold, wondering if those police men outside would come looking for her. Had they seen her? Had they heard the bins fall? They cut the sirens, and then a short while later someone mercifully managed to stop that damnable horn. Voices in the street, engines and the faint sound of radio traffic. One of the vehicles moved off at speed, and she supposed it was a medical vehicle removing the driver of the car. Finally, she allowed herself to relax a bit - it was obvious that no-one was looking for her. She tried to find a comfortable position to lie in, but all she could do was find one that hurt less than the others.
        So - just what in Hell had happened tonight? That horrendous jolt of pain had felt like a form of psychic attack, but as far as she knew there were no vampires around w/ that sort of power - there were minor vampires of course, every city had them, and a couple of older ones too, but even the strongest she had come across was far weaker than she was even in her depleted state. Besides which, she had been careful - no-one should have even known she was here. Unless that whore who had sent her here had tipped somebody off, just to spice things up a bit….
        Thick lethargy stole over her. She didn't care if anyone knew, and right now - right at this very moment in time - if somebody walked in w/ the intention of killing her she might well have gratefully given them advice on how best to do it. Almost her entire body cried out w/ pain. Her head pounded hard enough to make tiny bright lights pulse across her vision. She dragged the matted hair out of her face, and her fingers brushed the horn on the left side of her forehead and found it had been broken off halfway down. She was drenched to the skin, and those parts of her body that weren't filling her brain w/ screaming agony messages were numbed by the paralysing cold that had settled down to her bones. She was spent, absolutely exhausted. She could do w/out sleep if she needed to, there had been periods of centuries when she had done so,  but now it offered a brief respite from the pain. She would sleep and leave her body to get on w/ the act of repairing itself while her magick slowly recharged and maybe when she awoke she would be able to figure out what had happened to her.
        What if somebody comes? What if the owner of this building returns? She looked into the blackness, her night vision picking out nothing but a small rectangular room w/ a tiny table and the pile of crumpled up plastic sheeting she had fallen on, and discovered she didn't care.
        Purgatori closed her eyes and lay shaking in the dark, curled up in a foetal position. There was no-one here to hug her to keep her warm as she fell quickly into a deep slumber so she hugged herself, trying to push away the memories of long ago, when she had done the same to keep warm during the frigid Egyptian nights.

Egypt, 1386 BC
         Sakkara winced as the guard unlocked her shackles and roughly removed the cuffs from her neck and wrists. Another day over. Another interminable fourteen hour day over. She headed wearily for the small cart where a barrel of water was kept for the slaves to wash themselves, rubbing gingerly at the raw patches on her skin where the metal bonds had chafed her. She cupped her hands into the water and splashed her face, and after fourteen hours under the broiling desert sun the cool liquid felt like a kiss from Isis herself. She dipped her hands in again, and suddenly a hard shove made her stumble and fall, splashing the handful of water over the sand floor which drank it greedily.
         "Out of the way Whiteskin."
         Iras. Of course. Even among slaves there were groups and outcasts. Iras was an uppity bitch who didn't seem to realise she was a slave, and she had made herself a nice little gang of slaves who wanted to be her friends, mainly because they were scared not to be. She was a tough bitch and somehow seemed to be on friendly terms w/ some of the guards despite the social stigma that was attached to fraternising w/ the slave caste. Most of the slaves thought it was because she whored herself to them, but nobody dared say it. More than once she had had a disagreement w/ some other poor slave girl, and magically some time the next day that poor girl would find herself getting a good whipping from the guards. And on more than one occasion, that girl had been Sakkara. Iras had taken an instant disliking to Sakkara, a reaction that she would become dismally familiar w/ over the course of her long existence, and because she had, most of the other slaves were at great pains to do the same, just to stay on her good side.
         Sakkara glared up at Iras and her three friends. She was perhaps the only slavegirl who would openly defy Iras, and they had come to blows on more than one occasion, but right now Sakkara was exhausted, sore, and the only thing an argument would get her was in trouble. Sakkara was frightened of neither Iras or her relationship w/ the guards, but nor was she stupid. There was a time to pick a fight, and a time to remain prudently silent and let some insect think she had won a little victory : now was the latter.
         "Stay down there. You belong on the floor, Whiteskin." Her friends laughed dutifully. Whiteskin was a name Iras had come up w/, and it was supposed to be an insult. Sakkara wasn't white, but her skin was far paler than all the other Egyptian girls, and her eyes were a piercing sapphire. She knew nothing of her parents, had no recollections of anything other than being out in the sun working at some chore or other right from the time she could walk, and sometimes she would lie awake at night or let her mind drift while she was working, wondering about her lineage, wondering where her parents were, who they were and why they weren't around to look after her. Were they dead, or had they abandoned her or sold her? She suspected one or both of them was not Egyptian due to her skin colour - maybe one of them had been Roman, like those white, beautifully dressed visitors who turned up at the palace every so often. It depressed her to think those thoughts, but she couldn't help herself. She was all alone and a virtual outcast through no fault of her own. Nobody had ever offered any explanation as to why she was different, and never having been given the use of a mirror she couldn't understand why some of the girls made fun of her and insulted her. She hadn't even known about her eye colour and the obvious differences in her facial structure until her mid-teens when she had caught a glimpse of her reflection in a polished silver serving platter when she had been working in the Pharaoh's kitchen. She had stopped, entranced at the image of a beautiful raven-haired girl she had never seen before. That pause had been noticed and had earned her a severe caning, but she had lain in the tent that night and considered the pain a worthwhile price to pay for the revelation. She knew she was beautiful, and she knew Iras thought so too - it was blatant from the way she had desperately tried to think up some derogatory comment when they had first crossed paths and had been unable to keep the jealous tone from her voice. Sakkara knew then that she was burdened w/ something that would make her enemies w/ other insecure girls, but at the same time it gave her a certain power over them as well : no matter how much they professed to hate her or find her ugly they would be jealous, and that gave Sakkara a little bit of strength to endure the insults.
         She stood up, brushing the sand off her body and walked away w/out saying anything, managing to elbow Iras in the ribs as she went. Not hard, but good enough to get the point across : not scared of you bitch, you're just not worth the effort tonight. It was a move that would have painful repercussions later that night.
         She made her way across to the kitchen tent, where she picked up a scant meal of bread and corn and water and sat down far from the other slaves, to prevent anyone accidentally tripping her up or knocking the bowl out of her hands like they had many times before. Iras came in and she and her friends sat in a circle at the far side of the tent, talking low and casting looks in Sakkara's direction. Planning something. Sakkara ignored them and watched the fat red orb of the sun drop rapidly behind the pyramids. Night fell quickly, and a strong wind was beginning to ripple the sides of the tent. It was cool already, and would get colder in a hurry.
        She finished her meal quickly, barely half-satisfying her hunger and sat quietly, trying not to rub at her tingling skin. Even after all these years her skin still burned in the sun. She never tanned like the others; she just turned an angry tender red during the day, and at night the flush would die away so that the whole cycle could start again the next morning. She hoped that they would move her back inside sometime, maybe back to the kitchens or the clothing quarters. The new Queen was a fanatic for fine clothes and the rumours were that she had an entire chamber full of every colour of silk and satin and cotton imaginable, and rolls and rolls of fur from every creature that had ever walked the Earth, and she would spend hours w/ her servants, picking, choosing, designing, trying on. Sakkara thought that she could probably put up w/ that sort of job.
         The guards came in and moved them on to the sleeping tent. It was black outside now, every last trace of dusk gone. The constellations shone as bright as lamps above them, magnified by the cold clear desert air. Her skin goose-bumped and she ducked into the tent, grateful to have a fabric barrier between her and the wind. She crossed by the faint light of a couple of flickering torches and when she reached her sleeping place she bared her teeth in a snarl.
         "Where's my blanket, scum?"
         Iras looked up from her area of the floor w/ a big mocking innocent expression on her face. "Are you talking to me? Why would I want your lice-ridden rag?"
         "Because your fleas are getting lonely bitch. Give me it back. Now."
         The other girls were sitting up in bed now - if you could call a reed-mat on an  area of sand and a blanket a bed - w/ that anxious and eager anticipation that always preceded a fight.
         Iras's eyes flashed. "Go and annoy someone else, Whiteskin. These are my blankets. Aren't they?" She looked over at one of her friends who looked shocked at having been put on the spot. The girl looked helplessly at Iras, looked over at Sakkara, then dropped her eyes and mumbled something unintelligible at the ground. Iras didn't look best pleased at the performance.
         Sakkara walked across and stood over Iras and something in her expression made Iras lick her lips. "I'm not going to ask you again, dung heap. Give me my blanket or I'll tear your - "
        "Just what are you girls doing?"
        They both turned at the gruff voice and Sakkara felt her heart sink. It was Grypus, one of Iras's alleged bedfellows, and she had the nasty feeling that she had just been set up. He stood glaring at them, tapping his inch-thick bamboo cane against his calf and not looking happy at having the normal night-time ritual disturbed.
        "Iras has taken my blanket," Sakkara said resignedly. If this was going to go wrong, she might as well get it over w/ quickly.
        "Is that right?" Grypus said. He looked down at Iras and took stock of her bedding. "Slaves are only allowed one blanket. What are you doing w/ two?"
        Iras blinked in surprise. "I….it-it's mine. Both of them."
        "Really." Grypus reached down and plucked one of the blankets off her body. "Is this yours?" he asked Sakkara.
        "Yes," she replied, somewhat taken aback. Maybe Grypus wasn't so bad after all.
        "How do you know?"
        "I - what?"
        "I don't see your name on it anywhere. How do you know this is yours?"
        So that was the joke. String her along and then dump it on her just when she thought she had won. Sakkara bit back a curse and hoped the tears didn't show in her eyes.
        "I asked you a question."
        "She has two blankets! I don't have one any more!"
        Grypus sighed. "I don't think that's what I asked. I asked you how you knew this was yours. They all look alike to me."
        Sakkara wilted, resigning herself to whatever they had planned for her. "I don't."
        Grypus dropped the blanket back on top of Iras. "I don't have time for this stupidity girl, and I don't like brats who lie and make trouble for other people. Turn around and bend over."
        Sakkara did so helplessly, and Grypus caned her hard in front of everybody. She tried not to cry, but that was obviously one of his objectives and he kept on lashing her backside and legs until she couldn't help herself. During the next few days she would mentally kick herself for not realising sooner and saving herself a lot of bruises.
        He gave her a few more, just to get the point across then stood back, no doubt admiring his handiwork. "Get to sleep brat. Next time you make accusations you better be able to substantiate them. I won't be as lenient next time."
        Sakkara stumbled back to her floor space and curled up on the floor, sobbing quietly. If she made too much noise it would just give him an excuse to come back.
        Faintly, very faintly, she heard Iras sniggering. "Look at her, snivelling like a baby!" Sakkara rolled over, wiping the tears from her face and locked eyes w/ her. From where she was lying, her wet eyes reflected the solitary torch flame and it appeared as though her eyes were made of polished gold. Iras looked into them and found her mouth was dry. She swallowed, trying not to betray the nagging worry she felt. "Did you enjoy that, Whiteskin? I did. I hope you enjoyed it, because I've got a lot more lined up for you."
        Sakkara just held her gaze, not blinking.
        And then she smiled.
        Iras's skin tightened on her bones and she trembled, despite her two blankets. Sakkara regarded her a second longer w/ those strange blank golden eyes, then she rolled over again and settled down to sleep, shivering slightly.
        Iras got no sleep that night. She was afraid that if she took her eyes off Sakkara for even the briefest time she would come over and kill her in her sleep.

San Francisco
         Warm. She was warm. She shuffled around slightly, stretching her muscles briefly then curling back into a snug ball. Mmmm, this was so comfortable. The sand floor was firmer than she remembered, and strangely flat, but she was warm for the first time in weeks, and she had her blanket back, she must have gotten it back at some time -
         Purgatori's eyes flew open. This wasn't Egypt! She lay motionless, not wanting to alert anyone to her consciousness. Nothing moved in the building, and the only sound she could hear was the somnolent blowing of some artificial breeze machine. What was going on? Was she in danger? She inspected herself, letting her senses flow over her body. The migraine was gone, and her wings felt mended. Everything seemed to be repaired, but her muscles thrummed like straining crane cables and she was tired, so totally exhausted she felt as though she could just close her eyes and sleep for a week. That was a dangerous sign, though, and she knew it. If she did fall into that sort of a deep sleep again, there was a fair chance she wouldn't wake up. And she was hungry, ravenously hungry. Her body had used every last scrap of food to mend itself and was still wanting. If her anonymous assailant was in the building w/ her she would be completely at their mercy. But if they were here, why had they covered her up to keep her warm?
         There was no ready answer to that one, so she just sat up, moving quickly and smoothly to disguise her weakness, trying not to flinch as her muscles in her back and shoulders cramped at the sudden movement. The heavy leather jacket that had been draped over her flumped into her lap.
         There was a man watching her, sitting in a calm kneeling position about ten feet away, his hands resting lightly on his thighs. He was well muscled and his hair was the same jet black as Purgatori's, falling past his shoulders w/ a pencil-slim braid hanging behind each ear. He was wearing black jeans, and a black T-shirt that clung snugly to his torso and exposed the exquisite tattoos that covered the whole of his right arm. His eyes were reddened, and dark smudges surrounded them. And he had a long sword in a scabbard by his side.
         Purgatori eyed him up, assessing his threat-potential. That sword concerned her, but the look in his eyes…he looked as though he was looking at a mountain of diamonds.
         He moved and Purgatori tensed, determined not to underestimate him, but he was just offering his empty hands to her, palm up. "I mean you no harm."
         She started, and just looked back at him. His words seemed corny and false, but there was no doubting the sincerity in his tone. But she didn't know him, and therefore she didn't trust him.
         "Can you understand me?" His voice was low and calm, as though he was talking to an old friend instead of a winged vampire that had suddenly appeared in his building.
         "Yes."
         He looked surprised, as though he hadn't really expected a creature as strange as her to speak his language. He smiled and moved closer to her, moving on his knees the way she had seen samurai warriors move. There was a fluttering snicker of steel and she saw he suddenly had a knife in one had, a gleaming silver Balisong. She backed off w/ a hiss and found herself up against a wall w/ nowhere to go. She raised a hand, flexed her tendons and her razor sharp nails slid out an extra inch.
         "Shhh." He moved closer again, apparently unconcerned w/ her talons. If he had seen what they could do, he might have been a bit more cautious. "Here. Drink." And suddenly he moved the blade to his own forearm and sliced the skin open deeply. Another slick silver swirl and the blade disappeared. He looked at her and offered the limb.
         Purgatori couldn't help herself. She caught the smell of hot fresh blood, grabbed his arm and yanked it to her lips, gulping at the gorgeous sweet liquid.
         That was how she met Glenn Wolf.

         She didn't know how much she drank, but when he finally pulled the arm away from her and clamped his palm over the wound he was noticeably paler and had a thin sheen of sweat on his face. He stood up slowly, swaying slightly, and disappeared through the door into another room. Purgatori tilted her head back and let the last drop slide down her throat, relishing the taste. She could feel her body reacting already, could feel the strength building in her slowly but steadily. It would take a lot more blood to get her anywhere near the state she would like to be in, but it was a start, a thousand times better than she had been last night.
         She looked around, taking in the details of the room now that the lights were on. There was very little of interest to see. She was in a small square room that appeared to have been an office at some time and now appeared to be a temporary store room. The huge wad of plastic sheeting she had fallen on was the thick transparent type that was used by shipping companies to cover large consignments. There were a couple of posters tacked to the wall. Two showed Oriental martial artists and another showed a series of  hand drawn images of a figure demonstrating a nunchaku kata. There was a large cardboard box on the table, and she was fairly sure that it hadn't been there when she had fallen asleep.
        The room that the man had vanished into was unlit, but from the light that fell into it from her room she could tell that it was large and empty. There was a cylindrical machine of some sort facing the doorway : it made a soft sighing sound and projected warm air towards her. She closed her eyes in bliss, holding her hands out towards the heat and unfolding her wings slightly to catch the warmth. Delicious. In the weeks since she had arrived in this godforsaken place, she had been warm for approximately ten minutes : she had found a lone person on a building site standing by a fire in an oil-drum brazier. She had taken him and then stood as close to the flames as possible. She had heard more people heading towards her and had reluctantly left the place, taking the body w/ her and dumping it in some obscure place on her wanders. The first rule of vampire survival was not to draw attention to your presence, and that meant being selective w/ your kills and not leaving incriminating evidence behind. Before and since that time she had been dirty, bitterly cold and mostly wet : the filthy rat-infested cellar she had moved into in the steel factory kept the rain and sun off her and most of the wind, but it didn't keep her warm by any stretch of the imagination. It would have to do until she regained some of her powers -  a laboriously slow task w/ this watery, power-thin human blood - but it was absolutely detestable, and unfortunately the best she could come up w/. Being a vampire had both its advantages and disadvantages in these conditions. A human would have had the common decency to die of hypothermia a long time ago, but she had the strength and constitution to stay alive. A human could have wandered warm shops or libraries during the day, or even just stood in the watery sunlight to try and get some warmth. A vampire didn't contract influenza or lung infections from sitting in a sub-zero pit wearing only a bikini, but she had to endure frost forming on her cool skin, and deep cramping chills that almost froze her muscles solid, forcing her to spend much time flexing and loosening up before she could go hunting. Still, she supposed, if she had appeared through the Nexus in the middle of summer she might have arrived in bright sunlight, and her arrival would have turned into a fair impersonation of a meteorite. How many hours had she spent there after her hunts, huddled away from the sun and prying eyes, cold and wet and dirty, the only warmth coming from the raging flames of hate inside her? The days were short at this time of year, the sun mercifully brief in its visits, but human activity was almost constant, leaving her an unsettlingly short time each day w/ which to hunt, much less look for a better place to stay. That left her w/ an interminably long time to huddle in the cellar amongst the damp peeling plaster and the mould growths, wet and miserable and cold, unable to even start a fire for fear of drawing attention to herself and her hiding place. She had no books to read, nobody to talk to, no television to watch, nothing to write or draw w/ - she had  nothing to occupy her mind and take her attention away from her predicament, her torture. All she had was a lot of time, a lot of time to gaze blankly at the squalid cell and build a glowing fire of hate w/in her. Hate at the slut who had sentenced her to this purgatory. Hate at being reduced to this, a goddess who had been used to living in opulence now squatting in filthy ruins, scratching for insubstantial meals. Hate at the embarrassment of living like some sort of vermin. Hate for the humans around her, who would no doubt blindly panic and attack her if they became aware of her presence, instead of revering her and worshipping her the way they ought to.
        Warm again. Dry. Because of a human.
        He came back into the room, a tight band of bright white bandage covering the wound, and knelt down before her again, his eyes cool and grey and watchful. They flicked over her body, something she was well used to, but for once there was no lust behind the inspection. "Do you feel better?"
        "Yes."
        "You look better. Your horn has regrown," he observed casually.
        She ran her fingers over it as if to confirm, and returned his appraising glance. Yes, he was a fighter, a martial artist of some sort, and obviously a good one judging from the way he handled his weapons and moved - when he had walked in and knelt down it had seemed to be one smooth fluid movement, w/ absolutely no wasted energy. If she had been back to her normal strength, the strength she had been left w/ when she arrived here that is, she felt she could beat him easily in a fight, despite his abilities and muscles, but now she thought that even if she could beat him he would inflict serious damage on her in the process. But would she need to fight him? Who was he? Why was he looking after her? "How did you know?" she asked.
        "Know what?"
        "That I needed blood?" Purgatori said testily, as though the question had been obvious. Distrust glowed in her eyes. "Did somebody tell you about me?"
        "I saw your teeth when you were talking in your sleep. I -"
        "I what?"
        "You were talking in your sleep."
        She paused to consider this. "What did I say?" she said warily. Had she given away any dangerous information?
        "I don't know. You were speaking in what sounded like Arabic."
        "Egyptian."
        "Egyptian," he repeated thoughtfully. "Is that where you were…born? You don't look Egyptian."
        Purgatori just looked at him, not willing to tell this mysterious person anything that he might be able to use against her.
        He waited for a moment, then continued when it became obvious he wasn't going to get a reply. If he felt any irritation at being ignored he didn't show it. "I saw your teeth. I know that didn't necessarily mean anything, but then when I was watching you yesterday morning the sun shone on you and you started to smoke."
        Purgatori looked around and saw that the window she had knocked out had been boarded up w/ another piece of wood. It had been screwed into place, maybe because he didn't want to wake her up w/ the noise of hammering. Something jabbed at her. "‘Yesterday'?" she asked. "What time is it? What day is it?"
        "It's Friday. Just - " he checked his watch briefly " - turned half-past nine at night. I found you at ten to seven on Thursday morning. You've been asleep since."
        She absorbed that piece of information wonderingly. That meant that she had been asleep and vulnerable for over forty hours. Worrying. "You've been here since then?"
        "Yes."
        "Why?" she asked rudely. She didn't care.
        He appraised her again. "I wanted to make sure you were all right," he said finally.
        "Why?" she asked again. "Who are you? What is your interest in me?"
        Something - maybe anger, maybe irritation - flickered across his eyes. "My name is Glenn Wolf. I own this building. You don't have to worry about me, I - "
        "Did I say I was worried?" Purgatori snapped. "Do I look scared to you?"
        Again that pause. Now, even his lack of anger began to annoy Purgatori. "No you don't. I just mean that I'm not here to harm you."
        "How reassuring."
        "Yes. What can I call you?" She just looked at him again, and he sighed. "All right. Food. Do you need anything to eat? Do you need more blood?"
        "Lots more. But not right now. I'll get something later." And it might be yours.
        "You're dirty. There's a shower in the other room if you want to wash."
        Wash. What a fabulous concept. She hadn't washed since her arrival, a fact that deeply offended her. She couldn't even stand in the rain to clean herself : it came from the sky thick w/ the dirt and pollution that these disgusting humans spewed from their factories, and besides which, at this time of year the rain was savagely cold. "Yes."
        He lead her through the big room to another smaller room w/ a symbol of a woman on the door. "Water might take minute to warm up," he said in his quiet voice. "The hairdryer's on the wall there." She looked at the object, having no idea what it was. "I'll get you a towel." He left and came back w/ a big blue-and-white striped bath towel, a bar of soap and a bottle of shampoo, then w/ one last quick glance he left her.
        She watched him go. He hadn't tried to take advantage of her, or made any attempts to see her naked, something else she had become sickeningly familiar w/ over the years. I looked after you when you were hurt. I think you owe me something in return... How many times had some maggot tried a similar line on her? Was she actually irritated that he hadn't expressed an interest in her? Men were not her preferred choice, but she had grown to appreciate the hold she had over both sexes w/ her beauty, the obedience she could command if they thought there was a chance of having sex w/ her. She shrugged to herself and opened the door to the cramped shower cubicle. The water came on strong, and cold as he had thought. She stripped off and stood looking in the mirror as she let it warm up, half admiring, half disgusted. She was filthy, and no doubt she smelled badly too. Her hair hung in stringy rat-tails, tangled and matted. No wonder he wasn't interested in me, she thought ruefully. Steam began to flow out of the cubicle door and she stepped in eagerly, and just standing under the hot clear stream was an exquisite pleasure. She stood for long minutes, letting the water pummel her gently, soaking heat back into her muscles, and then she worked the soap into a thick lather and cleaned herself thoroughly, twice. She cleaned her hair three times and then stood again under the water, letting it hit her full in the face. It felt so good, she felt she could just stand like this for days.
        Eventually she turned the water off and used the towel to dry herself off. The towel was thick and soft and she found her mind drifting off to long gone days when several gorgeous young girls would fight for the privilege of bathing and drying her. She pushed the memories away, hating them. It wasn't that they were bad memories - they were good memories that hurt, and that was worse, somehow. She straightened her hair, combing it w/ her talons, and found out how to work the thing called the hairdryer. A useful invention, she reflected, but it would never be her first choice over some nubile blonde w/ a towel.
        She stood in front of the mirror again and this time she saw herself smiling w/ pure admiration. Yes, she was still as stunning as ever. She pulled on her clothes and went back out into the main room. Glenn was in there, doing some sort of practice exercises in front of a mirror. He saw her coming and turned around. He didn't make any comment, just smiled, but that smile said more than any words could and Purgatori felt a little flush of pleasure, the same flush she got whenever she knew somebody was admiring her body.
        "Feel better?"
        "Much."
        "How do you do that w/ your clothes?"
        "What?"
        "Your boots were scuffed and torn last night, and most of your left glove was shredded. They're good as new now. And clean."
        She eyed him up, feeling the distrust flood her again. "Spells," she said shortly. What the Hell, if he knew she could do magick - proper sorcery, not the puerile illusions that humans liked to call magic - it might make him a bit more wary of her.
        He considered this for a while, then just nodded. "I'm going out for a while -"
        "Where?" she snapped suspiciously.
        "To get some food."
        "No."
        That flicker in his eyes again. "I haven't eaten since I found you," he said calmly. Whatever he was thinking didn't make it through into his tone.
        "I don't care. How do I know you're not going to go to some of my enemies?"
        "I don't even know who you are. How would I know your enemies?"
        "My description would be enough. How many winged women are there in this hateful city?"
        "If I was going to do that, wouldn't I have done it while you were asleep?"
        "Maybe you did," Purgatori snarled angrily. "Maybe you put the word out about my presence and you're going to bring them to me now."
        He looked at her for a long time then shrugged slightly. "Fine. I'll stay." And w/ that he turned back to the mirror and began to go through his Tai-Chi exercises again.
        "Don't turn your back on me!" Purgatori spat. His flat refusal to treat her w/ awe was making her bristle w/ fury, and yet some tiny voice inside her told her that of course he couldn't treat her w/ awe if he didn't know who she was. She stamped that voice out.
        Glenn turned back to her, his eyes unblinking and hard. "What's your problem?" he asked in a neutral voice.
        Purgatori went berserk. "What's my problem?!" she shrieked. "I'm stuck on this dung-heap of a planet as weak as a child! Some slut has robbed me of my power and I have to feed on you talking apes like some lowly parasite, I've been living in the filth and the cold and the rain since I came here, I've got no allies to aid me, I'm unarmed and alone and weak and hungry and you stand there AND ASK ME WHAT MY PROBLEM IS!!!" She crossed the distance to him in a microsecond, gratified to see him flinch back before she took a handful of his T-shirt and shoved him back against the mirror as if he was nothing more than a big rag-doll. Her talons were extended and it was all she could do to stop from sinking them into his neck. Her eyes were blazing like searchlights. "Nobody has ever done anything for me w/out wanting something in return or using me for their own purposes! Even my one true lover tried to have me murdered and you stand there and tell me I should trust you w/ my life! You must think I'm pathetically naive! How dare you see fit to tell me who I can and can't trust! If you knew the first thing about betrayal you would know how stupid your question is! You're not getting out of my sight until I deem that it is safe for you to do so, and if I even think you're the least little threat to my existence I'll tear your heart from your chest and make you eat it is that clear?"
        Glenn Wolf stood dead still, her claws flexed an inch from his face. His eyes were still locked on hers, unblinking. "Yes," he said. She could hear a tremor in his voice. "That's clear."
        "Good. Get out of my sight while I consider whether or not to kill you."
        He edged away and she saw him shaking. Look at him, he's terrified. Good. He'll know not to mess w/ me now. She watched him turn and go into the small room she had woken up in and another thought occurred to her. Maybe being terrified wasn't good after all : maybe he would be so scared of her threats that he might think it would just be better to try kill her. And weak as she was, he might just be able to do it. Her eyes narrowed as she gazed at the empty doorway, grudgingly admitting that maybe she had gone a bit overboard w/ her reaction. There was one way to find out. She could still probe minds, one of the few abilities she was capable of : tonight while he slept she would look inside him and see if he harboured any plans against her. If he did, he wouldn't wake up.

        Purgatori sat cross-legged on the floor, in a corner of the main hall, facing a wall. She sat slumped, not seeing the freshly painted brick in front of her. Across the room, the thermostat on the heater clicked minutely and the somnolent sigh of the blower started up. She had just been in Wolf's mind.
        She had paced the main room for hours after he had left her, wrestling w/ her thoughts, wondering if she had acted rashly. She had waited until she was sure he had fallen asleep and had crept into the room to find him on the floor, the jacket he had covered her w/ last night now over him. She didn't disturb him : an ant on a carpet made more sound than Purgatori when she wanted to be stealthy. She touched his temple softly and probed oh so gently, seeping into him instead of driving in like a pick-axe as was her normal way. The slight dizzying feelings of merging, of being someone else, a strange sensation she never got used to. You were looking in at something and then suddenly you were a part of it, part of the sight, sound or sensation you had just been looking at. It was unsettling. All of a sudden she was looking at herself in the main room, seeing herself raging and threatening. Damn, she looked sexy when she was angry. And she was Glenn, standing there shaking w/ a set of steel-hard talons in front of his eyes, standing w/ a furious goddess snarling in front of him. His thoughts were hers. And it was those thoughts that had sent her wandering out to end up listlessly in this corner.
        He loved her. It was that simple. She had seen herself ranting at him and had felt not terror but first confusion, then sadness and anger. A swirling muddle of thoughts whipped through his mind. He was confused, unsure of exactly what had set her off. He was hurt : he had only tried to help her, and here she was on the verge of tearing his heart out. He considered that maybe she could use a good paddling for acting like that, then bit it back as he recalled what she had just been through. There she was, a heartbeat from killing him, and he was justifying her actions. Then the anger. She felt him try and quell it, but the more she spat at him the worse it got. She got it all, whether she wanted it or not. That was the problem w/ getting inside someone, you couldn't just selectively edit the part you wanted. You could go to a specific time or memory, but you got everything associated w/ it. And she got feelings of disgust and rage. He thought she was acting like a snotty brat, precocious and arrogant w/ no gratitude for what he had done. Pity and sorrow when she told him about being betrayed, then anger again when she had threatened him.
        And below it all, still the love he felt for her. That shaking she had seen had been fury, not fear. He seemed to be well aware of the fact that she could kill him, but he didn't seem particularly bothered by it; presumably, being a martial artist, he was used to fighting and maybe killing. What did bother him was the way she was treating him. All he had done was try to help her and she was biting his head off as though she had caught him trying to molest her while she was unconscious. That stung Purgatori. She had probed deeper, hoping to come across some ulterior motive to his actions that would justify the way she had acted, but instead came across his first sight of her. She was him outside, coming cautiously up the alley w/ a knife in his hand, taking in the broken window and disturbed bins. Opening the door carefully, scouting around inside, checking that nothing had been damaged or stolen. Opening the inside door and seeing herself lying on the ground, sleeping restlessly. Feelings. Slight shock at finding someone, more shock as he actually registered her wings and horns. Then the shock faded away as he crouched down and saw her face. Purgatori closed her eyes as if to shut out the memory of his memories. He had looked at her and just fallen in love. He was entranced.
        Just like Ostraca had been.
        No. He just lusted after me. But that was rubbish, a feeble attempt to exonerate herself. She had caught his feelings, deep love, but tinged w/ remorse, a conflict for his fiancee. He wouldn't try to take advantage of her because he already had someone, and that put him about three steps ahead of some other scum who had tried to bed her even though they were married. She swallowed w/ difficulty. This was one of the great tragedies of her life. She so wanted someone - anyone - to love her, to love her as fully and completely as Ostraca had done, but whenever she got a sniff of a loving feeling from someone she immediately tightened up and wrote them off as wanting to use her for their own ends. And, Horus knew, over the years that had been true more times than she could recall, and those relationships had ended in bitter betrayal and some had almost killed her, but now she slumped weakly and wondered how many of the others that she had spurned first,  had cast aside and left or had killed, had really been in love w/ her. Had any of them really loved her, and suddenly found themselves callously abandoned or dead? A wave of sick self-pity swamped her. Dear Anubis, had she been so wrapped up in her precious martyrdom that she had missed what should have been plainly visible? Had she at some time thrown away that which she so dearly craved above all else? Was she doing so now?
        She opened her eyes and found she was perilously close to tears. No. He just loves my body. That's understandable but shallow. I want someone to love me not my breasts or my legs or face. But that was how it had started w/ Ostraca. She buried her hands in her hair and gripped big double handfuls, pulling until the pain made her grimace. No. He loved her, was enchanted w/ her, but he didn't love her. At least, she didn't think so. She had pulled out before the feelings could overwhelm her, and she had no intention of going back in to verify the situation. And she wasn't in love w/ him, so that put an end to the argument about ignoring things right in front of her. But it still didn't excuse her for the way she had treated him. If she didn't want him as a lover, then at least she could have him as a friend, as an ally. Or she could have if she hadn't screwed it all up w/ her attitude. Could she make it up to him? Should she? When was the last time she had apologised to someone? Had she ever? She saw herself in his memories and was suddenly sickened and embarrassed. Was that what she had become? How could she have been so stupid? At the very best, she might just have thrown away the only ally she had come across on this wretched planet. At worst, she might have made another enemy, and if he bore a grudge it was entirely possible that he could blow her cover or try and kill her or cause her untold other problems. That bitch who went around calling herself Lady Demon had made her this way : it was a direct reaction to what she had been through these past weeks. But, she supposed resignedly, even that was a cop-out excuse. She herself hated rudeness, and when she had ruled Necropolis she had severely punished any girl who didn't show her the proper respect. If any of them had acted towards her the way she had acted towards Glenn she would have whipped the skin off them, regardless of their excuses. I'm a goddess! I don't need to justify the way I act towards a mere mortal! The words tasted like dust. Yes she was a goddess. Goddesses were supposed to be regal, not brats.
        How will you get anyone to worship you if you treat them like that?
        Oh, that hurt.
        She hung her head, exhausted and frustrated all over again. She was stubborn, had been all her life. It kept people from walking all over her, and abusing her, but it made her cold as well. She called it principle, but maybe sometimes it would have been prudent to swallow her pride and arrogance. Maybe if she had let her guard down once in a while she could have had a happier life. Not by much, maybe, but on her scale of experiences a little would have gone a long way.

Egypt, 1386 BC
         Sakkara trudged back up the long rolling sand dune to the cluster of palm trees that marked a resting place for the guards. Only one was around at the moment, supposedly keeping an eye on her but actually doing little more than lazing in the shade w/ a skin of wine. He didn't have much to do – Sakkara was still thick w/ bruises and very sore from the caning Grypus had administered four nights ago and was in no mood to cause trouble for any reason. Or so it seemed.
         She placed the two heavy jars of water down beside the other ten that she had already brought up along w/ several jugs of wine and rolled her shoulders, trying to ease the muscles.
         "Is that the last?"
         She turned to the guard w/ proper dutiful speed. "Yes. Should I take a jar of wine over to Iras and her team again?" This was a regular occurrence. The guard in charge of supplies was obviously getting a few favours from Iras and she had curried a few perks for herself as a result. Getting wine and food while the others got water and nothing to eat was just one of the little things she saw fit to rub in Sakkara's face as often as possible.
         "Yes. And hurry back to work."
         "Yes sir."
         She picked out one of the squat, wide-mouthed jugs and carried it over to where Iras was lounging around in the shade of the Sphinx. She had managed to get herself onto a team that wove reeds into mats for bedding and sacks for carrying grain and moving excavated sand – the team was split into pairs of girls, and as usual Iras had determined that that meant one girl worked and one supervised. No prizes were on offer for guessing who played what role. The three other teams were occupied some distance away, sorting a new stack of reeds and trimming them to uniform length. Iras was talking to her partner, a beautiful brunette w/ golden skin who was called Berenice. Sakkara had been fond of Berenice, but she had been one of the first to fall in w/ Iras and as a result didn't have – or wasn't allowed to have - much time for Sakkara.
         Iras looked up and grinned a big sneering grin. "Hello Sakkara. How's your backside today? Still sore?"
         Sakkara stopped thirty feet away and dropped her jug heavily onto the sand. "Here's your wine, scum."
         Iras's eyes flashed. "Dear me. Still the attitude. We'll have to see what we can do about that. Won't we Berenice?"
         "Yes," Berenice said in a tiny voice, suddenly very interested in her work.
         Iras smirked at Sakkara. "Turn around, I want to see your marks again."
         "Maybe you could kiss them better. Oh no, silly me. It's only the guards' backsides you kiss isn't it?"
         Iras flushed. "Bring my wine here." A lame come-back Sakkara thought.
         "Get off your fat backside and get it yourself."
         "You're going to get the whipping of your life," Iras hissed. "I'm going to get Grypus to cane you on your feet as well. See how many funny comments you come up w/ tomorrow. Bring my wine here NOW and maybe I'll tell him to go easy on you."
         Sakkara stood fuming, breathing heavily, then snatched up the jug and shoved it at Iras.
         "Good girl," Iras sneered as Sakkara backed away. "You can go now," she said imperiously as she worked the cork stopper out of the wide neck. "Oh, and by the way, I was lying about telling Grypus to go easy on you."
         "I know."
         "Run along like a good little slave and leave me to savour this lovely wine." She pulled the cork out, raised the jar, and a large and very irate Egyptian cobra rocketed out and jammed its fangs into her cheek. Iras jumped up w/ a scream that could probably have been heard in Rome and ran in a shrieking circle as the snake bit her again then dropped off her and made for the shadows of the Sphinx.
         "Dear me," Sakkara murmured. "However did that get in there?"

         The next morning she sat in the dining tent and ate her meal happily. She had slept well last night and even the pain from sitting on her bruises seemed to have abated a lot.
         "Hello Sakkara." It was Berenice. She looked at Sakkara doubtfully and then sat down beside her, carefully setting her cup of water on the floor. She took a bite of bread and smiled timidly at Sakkara as if waiting for a greeting. "Wasn't it awful about Iras?" she said finally.
         "No."
         "She's been blinded and paralysed, you know. I think the guards will just kill her if she doesn't get any better."
         "Sad."
         Berenice cleared her throat, and Sakkara noticed she was blushing slightly. "I've been moved onto a group making blankets today. Do…do you want…want me to make you a new one? To replace the one Iras took?"
         Sakkara stopped chewing and considered this for a moment. As far as she could remember, it was the first time anyone had offered to do her a favour.
         Berenice blushed deeper at the silence and cleared her throat again. "I…I was…hoping we could be friends again….like before? I really like you Sakkara, some of the other girls like Charmian are really nasty to me, but you never picked on me."
         Sakkara swallowed, her sapphire eyes fixed on Berenice's hazel ones.
         "There are some of us who are really proud of you, the way you stuck up for yourself that night even though it meant getting beaten. We could all be friends together."
         "You…want to be my…friend?"
         Berenice looked at her w/ a pretty smile. "Yes! Like we were before. I mean, we never really got to be close friends, but we liked each other didn't we…?"
         "I liked you. Did you like me?"
         "Of course! I thought you were very nice. And kind. And..and p-pretty," she degenerated into a mumble, now almost beetroot red.
         "You did like me…"
         "Yes!"
         "And now you want to be my friend again.."
         "Yes!"
         "Now that Iras isn't around to protect you from Charmian."
         "Y-…er…"
         "Can I ask you a question Berenice?"
         "Erm, yes…"
         "Where were you when I needed a friend?"
         "…but…"
         "You were all pleasant to me, and then Iras turned up and you drop me like a scorpion. All that time I was alone and getting picked on and never once did you say anything or try and get her to stop. If you all had stood up against her she wouldn't have been able to do anything. But you just sat back and let her have her fun w/ me."
         "B-b-but she would have beaten us! Had the guards whip us!" Berenice wailed. Several of the other slaves looked over.
         "So it was just easier to sit there quietly and let me take all the beatings instead. And now she's gone and you find yourself fair game for Charmian again you think you can come running back to little Sakkara and put on a big smile and think everything will be all right. And presumably next time another bully like Iras turns up you can go off and leave me again."
         "But…I…just thought…I just wanted to be friends…I thought you would want a friend…"
         "I do. And you're not one." Berenice gaped at her, her eyes swimming w/ tears. Sakkara's eyes were as cold and hard as the jewels they resembled. "You think you can just drop me and leave me all alone when I need a friend the most and then just pick me up again when it suits you? Get out of my sight. And tell the rest of those spineless toads you hang around w/ that I don't want to be friends w/ them either. I'm not going to be your friend just when it's convenient for you. Take your blanket and choke on it." She pulled another piece of bread off her crust. "Get away from me, you're putting me off my food."
         Berenice jumped up w/ a strangled sob and ran out of the tent, leaving her food behind. Sakkara turned her back on the rest of the slaves, partly because she was disgusted w/ them, but mainly because she didn't want them to see her tears.

San Francisco
         Purgatori hung her head. Yes. Same old story, all her life. If she had just bitten back her anger she could have put all that behind her and she could have spent the next few years w/ friends, people to laugh and talk to, people to share her pains w/ and share comfort w/, people to huddle up to on cold winter nights. All that far out-weighed the anger she felt at the way they had left her alone – after all, she couldn't really blame them for backing down and going along w/ a domineering tough bitch like Iras – but that stubborn streak in her, that refusal to forgive anyone for f*cking her over…it had just taken control and she had gone w/ it. All the reasons and excuses had been disregarded. She could have spent many nights snuggled up w/ Berenice and maybe things might have developed beyond that, but instead she had been betrayed and she had been unable to forgive them. Of course, compared to some of the betrayals she had endured in her life time that was almost insignificant, but she had been young then, and that had been the first. And maybe the defining one, the one that shaped her personality and set her life on the course it had taken. How different would things have been had she just swallowed all the disbelief and anger and given Berenice a smile and accepted her stupid peace offering of a blanket?
         Her eyes were damp. She wiped them angrily. Who gave a damn anyway? That had been almost forty centuries ago. Who cared? She was what she was. She had been abandoned by people who had dared to say they were her friends and she hadn't been able to forgive them. Was that so wrong? No. It was right. She was right. But that was a different situation to the one she found herself in now. It explained why she had treat Glenn like that, but it didn't legitimise it. So she was afraid of being betrayed again, scared of being vulnerable when she was so weak : that was no excuse for almost killing someone who had tried to help her. Unlike Berenice, Glenn hadn't looked after her then betrayed her, he had just looked after her. She was suddenly disgusted at herself. She tried to divert some of that disgust into hate for Lady Demon, since it was really her fault that Purgatori was here in this situation to start w/, but it didn't seem to make her feel better.
         "Are you all right?"
         She jerked her head up and saw Glenn standing in the doorway. He was still blackened around the eyes slightly and she knew that was due to lack of sleep because he had spent almost forty hours watching over her while she rested. Something seemed to jam in her throat.
         He watched her closely and then pushed his hair back. The bandage seemed to glare at Purgatori. "Listen, I don't want to fight again, but I really need to get something to eat. I need to get over to my job too. I can't afford to get sacked."
         "Go." She didn't trust herself to say anything else.
         He stood there watching her again. "I'll get back around six tonight. Can I bring you anything?"
         "No. I'll…be gone." She saw the disappointment in his eyes, even at this distance, and had to look away. "I…I appreciate everything you did for me. Th-thank you." It came out quieter than a whisper.
         "You're welcome." Same gentle tone, as if opening his veins to a stranger was a normal part of his day.
         She looked up at him, desperately wanting to say something that would be able to restore a little bit of her self-esteem, because if she didn't she might never be able to look at herself again w/out that feeling of disgust and helpless resignation, the realisation that maybe her personality had cursed her to loneliness. "Wolf…I..didn't…mean to say…" She stopped, hating the feeling that was rising, the old feeling of superiority that told her she was a goddess and didn't have to explain herself to the likes of him, the pride that was trying to choke her words.
         "We got off on the wrong foot a bit, didn't we?" he said mildly.
         Purgatori blinked in surprise. She had expected him to ignore her, or maybe tell her to shove her excuses up her ass, but she hadn't expected this. But then again, considering  the feelings she had felt inside his head, maybe she should have. "I…I haven't…" Oh gods, this was torture. Was it really so hard to apologise and admit she had been wrong? I've ravaged cities, devastated entire districts of Hell. I've bested and fed on demons and demi-gods and Fallen Angels. Why should I have to apologise to this creature? Because the one trait she held higher than any other was loyalty, and this man had stood by her when she was hurt and was still around now, despite a very real threat to his life. Because she was a goddess and goddesses weren't ignorant wretches who treat their subjects like dirt, they were supposed to be kind and benevolent and rewarded their worshippers – if you spurned your worshippers, they would stop revering you, and a goddess w/out worshippers was just a stuck-up brat w/ an attitude. How would she  feel if she had went through the Nexus and finally found her beloved Isis, fell to her knees in front of her, and she kicked Purgatori out the way saying, "Get out of my way you worthless insect, you're not worth wasting my time on"? "I haven't apologised to anyone in four thousand years," she managed to say quietly.
         "Then don't start now," Glenn said. "Everything you said about being alone and hurt and vulnerable was right. I understand; I've been there. You had no reason to trust me."
         "I did. You spent almost two days watching over me. You fed me."
         "Yeah. Well, like you say, I might have had a hidden agenda." He walked over to her and extended his hand. She looked at it and then took it and he helped her to her feet. "Look, I don't mind okay? People w/ less reason than you have treated me worse. I could have lived w/out it, but I'm not going to lose any sleep over it."
         Purgatori gazed at him thoughtfully. The words made her feel warm and light, the way she had felt the first time Ostraca had talked to her. It sounded like a absolution. She took the forgiveness gratefully but still had to forgive herself. "I'm sorry." There. Finally. Two tiny little words. It seemed as though standing unarmed in front of Lady Demon and saying "kill me" would have been easier. He just smiled a small smile at her and she saw his eyes drinking in her face.
         "I have to go," Wolf said finally. "I'll see you tonight."
         He wanted her to stay. She had a place to live in. A dry, warm place. "Yes. I'll be here." He let go of her hand and pulled on his jacket. "Purgatori."
         He frowned. "Sorry?"
         "You can call me Purgatori."
         "That's a pretty name," he said, inspecting her face again. "But a sad one, I feel."
         Purgatori just shrugged. They watched each other for a moment more and then she sighed. "Why did you stay w/ me? If I were you I would have gone long ago."
         He paused w/ his hand on the door handle. "Like I said, I've been where you are; alone and hurt. You said I didn't know the first thing about betrayal, but you were wrong." He pulled his T-shirt out of his jeans and lifted up the front to reveal his hard flat belly. A thick rope of scar tissue formed a looping curve from his left hip to a point just below his sternum. "My fiancee did that to me, just before I had to kill her. It's a long and painful story, but I'll tell you it sometime if you want. I fell in love w/ you the moment I saw you, but it goes beyond that. I felt for you, seeing you hurt like that. Guess I've just got a soft spot for damsels in distress," he said w/ a small grin. The smile faded and he looked at her w/ serious eyes again. "Turns out we're kindred spirits, Purgatori. Both alone, both betrayed." He let the T-shirt drop back into place. "We'll talk tonight. I'm not expecting anyone, so if anyone tries to get in, you can consider them an enemy."
         "I'll take care of them," she smiled thinly.
         "I'm sure you will. Keep safe Purgatori. I'll be back as soon as I can."
         And w/ that he was gone. She heard him chaining the door up and locking it behind him, but it didn't bother her. She had no plans for going anywhere, and if she needed to get out she suspected that she could take the door out w/ one kick. She was clean. She was warm. She was dry. She had a friend. A friend. And a strange one at that. He had said he had killed his lover after she had almost gutted him, but when she had been in his mind she had felt the love he still had for her. He was right : they were kindred spirits in more ways than one. She lay down on the floor, pillowing her head w/ her arm and thought about Glenn Wolf.

Shanghai, China
         Jade stood in the centre of her sanctum, watching expressionlessly as the two men before her flopped and writhed in agony. The warm smell of blood hung on the air, arousing her. She made a tiny gesture, and her guards backed away, lowering their metal pipes, lengths of chain, nunchakus and other weapons w/ which they had been beating the two men w/. Her eyes glowed in the dim room. Her guards didn't mind : theirs did too. They didn't mind the fact that her long black hair swayed and moved gently, even though there was no wind in the room. The two idiots on their knees were the only humans in the room. Two serpentine creatures coiled at her feet, hissing at the men. They were pure energy, these creatures, translucent manifestations of Jade's power radiating a soft and somehow chilling green light. She kept them around for company, and because she liked the terror they induced to any human visitor.
         One of the men struggled to his knees. "Please! Mistress! We meant no harm! We – " He gagged as a long whipcord of Jade's hair snapped out and wrapped around his throat. It reached the man fifteen feet away, even though her hair was normally only waist length.
         "Don't you dare try and lie to me," Jade hissed. The hair tightened around the man's neck until his eyes began to bulge. "You were seen talking to the Yakuza representative. You were seen exchanging information for money. For MONEY!" Jade snarled. She had been sold out for a few thousand American dollars. Her organisation owned some of the most profitable casinos and brothels in China and Hong Kong, they had lucrative stakes in hotel chains, computer software, electronic supplies and a dozen different enterprises, and still her underlings had seen fit to betray her for a handful of gold. Another rope of hair snaked out to choke the other man and she lifted them both off the ground, her rage fuelling her powers. "Know this. Your contacts are dead. The Yakuza have been sent their heads. Your petty plans are for nothing. The Dragon Clan vampires are still unaware of our location. You have failed. Die, knowing your families will pay for your betrayal." And w/ a single angry thought she opened up their throats, spilling their worthless blood onto the polished onyx floor. Her phantasms slipped forward and licked at the steaming pools but she herself didn't give the spasming sacks of meat the satisfaction of seeing her drink from them. The ultimate vampire snub – the spilling of blood rather than drinking it. She let the corpses fall to the ground and stood fuming over them.
         "Shall we seek out their families, Mistress?" her bodyguard asked.
         "No," Jade replied. She wondered whether they would take it as a sign of weakness, but didn't really care. They wouldn't question her motives, and these vampires were far more loyal to her than the scum humans she employed. The truth was, she abhorred pointless killing. Her vampirism had been thrust upon her and it was a constant source of dismay to her that she had to kill to feed, but she tried to ease her conscience by trying to kill only criminals and enemies who would have no hesitation in killing her. She had wanted the two men to die thinking that their sins had condemned their whole families, a fact that would have tormented them had she let them live, but he had had no real intention of killing innocent wives and children who had had nothing to do w/ these men's actions. "Take these bodies away and burn them. Clean this place and leave me alone. I will call a meeting in six hours and we will discuss our plans for  –"
         Jade!
         "- a-a-action.." She stuttered to a stop and her bodyguard was at her side in a moment, his hand taking her shoulder w/ surprising tenderness.
         "Mistress? Are you all right?"
         "Yes, Chow. Leave me now, all of you. I will call you later."
         They went immediately, bowing and leaving hurriedly , sliding the screen doors shut behind them. Jade looked blankly into the shadows, her dragons entwining themselves around her ankles. "Kabala?"
         Yes. I have tried for three weeks to find you!
         "I have been busy in another country. What do you want?"
         Our maker, Purgatori! She has returned!
         Jade's skin sculpted into goose-bumps at the words. She had felt the faint sensations herself and had passed them off as nothing more than her imagination, maybe brought on by the stress of the problems she had just dealt w/ and the savage Triad battle she had just crushed in London. But now Kabala's words struck a chill in her she hadn't known for centuries. A chill, and a hatred. "Yes…I too had sensed her, yet I didn't believe it could be true, not after all this time."
         Our chance has come Jade! She is weak! Much weaker than we could have hoped for. Let us strike now before she can gain an advantage!
         "Where is she? I sense a great distance between us."
         America. I thought her lost to me after I attacked her, but she has reappeared to me.
         "You attacked her!" Jade cried in surprise. "She must truly be weak if she let you get away w/ that!"
         Yes. I sense I hurt her too! Come w/ me. We must contact her and tell her that we are still waiting for her.
         "That may not be wise Kabala. Should we not keep the element of surprise?"
         She senses someone hunts her. She will discover our identities in due course. I say we make ourselves known to her now. She will be thrown off guard and the revelation will make her nervous and wary. It will distract her while we close in.
         "Yes…a good strategy. We can put her on edge and let her fret for a few days while we strengthen ourselves on the trip to America."
         Yes! Join w/ me now Jade. Let us send her a message of greeting!
 

San Francisco
         "What is that?"
         Glenn Wolf looked over to where Purgatori was pointing. A wide flat box of carved wood rested on the small shelf in front of the dojo shrine. In the three weeks since Purgatori had arrived she had seen him gradually transform the place from a dusty, empty building to a clean dojo, a martial arts training hall. The walls had been freshly painted, the windows and the skylight in the main hall had been cleaned but covered by heavy drapes for her benefit, and the floor of the main room had been covered w/ thick foam mats. The cartons and plastic sheeting that they had been packed in had been cleared out and disposed of, and the small office she had originally bedded down in was now a comfortable office w/ a computer, chair and filing cabinet to go w/ the small table. Racks of training weapons and various posters and a large Japanese flag decorated the walls. The shrine was something she hadn't really understood because it held a photograph of a man rather than an icon of a god, but she put it down to one of those obscure rituals humans liked to engage in and left it at that. The customary incense sticks were there, but the box was new.
         "Steel," Wolf said. He picked up the box and opened it to reveal two cubes of dull metal resting in purple velvet. "Don't touch them," he said hurriedly as he saw her raise her hand, "they've been purified."
         "Why?"
         "For making swords. This is some of the purest steel you can find. They've been purified in a ceremony to make them worthy for a blade."
         "You've enchanted them?"
         "Uh…no. Not like that. It's more a symbolic thing."
        Purgatori frowned. "To make a sword like yours?" she asked, gesturing at the katana that rested on a stand by the shrine.
        "Yes." He replaced the box on the shelf and bowed to it briefly. "The katana is, arguably, the finest sword ever made."
        "Hmmph. I know a weaponsmith who could forge a sword that would cleave through your blade like butter. It is rumoured that the enchantments he can put into a blade can even kill demons and angels."
         Glenn was struck again by her casual mention of things that he had never really believed in. He had never been religious but over the weeks she had talked about creatures and places that he had thought were only mythical creations. She had even mentioned Heaven and Hell, as casually as though she was talking about Arizona, and he had spent that night wondering if all the preachers had actually been right about the fate of people upon death. Wolf thought that if he could get Purgatori on a couple of evening chat shows he could make enough money to buy most of Europe, probably. "Yes, but that's magick you're talking about. I'm talking about blades."
        Purgatori considered this. "So why don't you enchant your blades? If they're so good just being swords, then they would be even better combined w/ sorcery."
        "Well, yeah, I guess….But nobody here does sorcery."
        "I do." She looked from the box to his katana, eyes narrowed in thought. "Could you make me a sword? If I put spells into the metal?"
        "Er…"
        "I'll pay you for it of course. You humans are fond of gold aren't you?"
        Glenn smiled. "Why is it you always make 'human' sound like the worst possible insult? No, it isn't a case of wanting money, I was just considering the possibility. My swordmaker is very traditional, I don't know how he would feel about forging a magickal blade."
        "Would he want money?"
        "Not everybody's money-obsessive, Purgatori. No, he'd prefer steel."
        "Steel? Why? This pure type?"
        "Yes. Pure steel is very precious to a sword maker."
         "Where did you get it?"
         "At a place called Takeshi's, just outside town, by the big drive-in cinema. They specialise in stuff like this." He watched Purgatori for a while. "Are you going out tonight?"
         "Hmm? Yes. I'm thirsty."
        "Are you all right? You seem a bit…distracted. Out of sorts."
        She looked over, and for a brief moment the old distrust tried to rise up, but she squashed it quickly. "I feel someone's watching me. Hunting me."
        Glenn frowned. "Who? Vampires?"
         "Yes, I think so. I…seem to ….recognise…." She trailed off into silence.
        "Can they hurt you?"
         "Yes," she said frankly. "In my current state, probably quite easily." She saw his look of concern, and was quite touched. When was the last time anyone had cared about her safety? "Don't worry, they aren't anywhere near here. If they were, I would be able to sense them." She didn't mention that despite being far away they had been able to hurt her quite badly last time. "I'm going out. I'll be back before five o'clock."
        "Sure," he said, still regarding her w/ some concern. "I'm going home, but I'll stop by in the morning on my way to work."
         "Good."
         She left by the skylight, which got her out of the building out of the sight of anyone who might have been in the area. Her wings drove her powerfully upward, climbing high past the level of the streetlights so that anyone happening to glance upwards would be unlikely to see her. She began to cruise over the city, criss-crossing the streets like a hawk hunting for mice in a field.
         She let her mind consider Glenn as she flew, her eyes roving constantly for any potential victims. Over the past weeks he had proved himself as loyal as he had said. He hadn't sold her out to anyone and he had even let her drink from him on two more occasions when she had been unable to go out. She had taken a little too much the second time and he had fainted, scaring her. For a moment she thought that she had managed to inadvertently kill the one friend she had in the world, but after binding the wound and checking his pulse she had realised what had happened and a huge sense of relief had made her head spin. He had come around half-an-hour later and had brushed away her concern, but she had resolved to herself that that would be the last time she drank from him. Sometimes, when she got her lips against a fresh wound, she just lost control, and she wouldn't allow herself to do that around him.
        He had started teaching her martial arts, for something to do to try and fill in her empty hours. She was just beginning to learn to use style and technique rather than her speed and strength to try and beat him when they sparred by hand or w/ swords : as he had pointed out, speed was no substitute for quality of technique. If you relied on speed eventually someone faster than you would turn up and you would be beaten. She just had to look back at her fight w/ Lady Demon to see the truth in that. She had been forced to fight after being savagely tortured, and as a result she didn't have the strength or speed she usually relied on : she had lost. If you perfected your style you could add the speed later and unless the opponent was both better and more experienced, you would win. She was getting better. She was a fast learner, and had the stamina and time to practice continuously for more than fifteen hours a day, every day. She could have just pulled the techniques and information out of his mind, but that was a very painful method and she would do nothing to harm him. Besides, the learning and self-discipline gave her focus.
         She had told him of her banishment to Earth by Lady Demon and knew that some of the things she had said about the existence of Heaven and Hell troubled him. She could have added that all religions were valid, that there were creatures and gods and goddesses in the cosmos from any religion he could name, but she suspected that that information might not have a calming effect. In return, he had told her of his own betrayal. He had fallen in love w/ a girl from a Yakuza family and had been grudgingly accepted into the family. He had gotten engaged to her, they had been happy. She turned out to be psychotic. She had been an assassin for the family and when they had moved to Japan she had gradually enticed him into killing too. At first he didn't really care, because the people they killed had been drug dealers and other gang-bangers who were doubtlessly killers themselves. And then things had changed. The head of the family had been killed in an assassination and the son who had taken over had been a real scumbag. He had ordered Glenn to kill a businessman, for no reason other than he wanted to try and take over his company. Glenn had refused. The son had been enraged and had attacked Glenn. Glenn was an accomplished martial artist and took maybe five seconds to put him in Intensive Care. His fiancee had been dedicated to the family, he knew that, but he had thought that she would have seen his point of view, understood his belief that the killing would have been dishonourable. She hadn't. When he had returned home that night she had knifed him in the belly, meaning to spill his guts around his feet and leave him squirming. He had almost let her get away w/ it too, then survival took over from love and he had kicked her away long enough to draw his gun and blow her head off her shoulders. By some miracle, the police had arrived before the rest of the Yakuza and he had been taken to hospital under protective custody. They wanted him to testify, and he had flatly refused. He had escaped the hospital and managed to flee to America using one of the false passports the family had given him. He had heard later from various shady contacts he still kept in touch w/ that the family had been disgusted w/ the brother's actions and he had somehow 'disappeared', the other brother taking over in his place. Word was out that they were looking for Glenn to make amends, but he kept away from them. What could they do to make it better? Replace his fiancee's head?
        Such sorrow. Purgatori had felt so sorry for him, a remorse that originated from her own betrayal by a lover. He had been right; they were so alike it was frightening, and she wondered if their meeting was coincidence, or whether the gods had thrown them together. What would be the chances of meeting someone who would take one look at a red-skinned, winged demoness and fall in love rather