The land ruled by Darkness was fascinating, I'll admit -- and that library, oh! The library alone nearly made me cry. But half of what broke my heart was the realization that I would never get to open a single volume in that room -- it had already become evident that the Astoreth who lives there, though she may call herself Queen of Las Vegas, is in fact nothing more than a prisoner in her pretty tower, unable or unwilling to act against those who named themselves her superior regardless of her own needs or desires, and there was only so long I could be willing to stay and pretend to be her. Her library may be superior (and her Balthamilazar, it would seem, more loyal) but when all was said and done I was glad to put her realm behind me.

No, the 'alternate reality' that surprised me was the second, backwards-reality, where Dwayne was a serial killer and Cheyenne was psychotic and married to Eric and Angel had long hair and liked men. I don't think I've ever experienced anything as strange as that limo ride to Napa, where I had to sit with a gentle and socially responsible Lucius Anton -- a man who in my version of history murdered Dwayne, tried to kill his brothers, blackmailed and all but raped me at gunpoint -- and pretend to be his doting daughter. But the strangest thing about it was how easy he made it... how evidently open he was. He wasn't hiding anything, or trying to doublecross me -- that Lucius genuinely loves his Astoreth as a daughter, and works to provide for and protect her and her Dagon; he honestly loves his country and wants to work for a better tomorrow for everyone. And when I was with him, talking to him, I found that wanted to help him, succeed for him -- he's got such hopes for the future, and for his Astoreth. By the end of the day I...

...this is so hard to write. By the end of the day, I wanted to be his Astoreth. Almost; I almost wanted it. I felt so bad when I had to confess the truth to him -- but by that point, I couldn't bring myself not to confess, even for sake of sparing his feelings. I felt that I was disappointing him -- even as I explained that I wasn't his Astoreth and we were going to get his Astoreth back.

And god, then I faltered -- I didn't want to go back. In talking to Dwayne and Cheyenne and Angel, I suddenly found myself wondering what the fuck I wanted to go back for. Dwayne hates me, Cheyenne is certainly days away from self-destruction, Dagon doesn't need me anymore -- no one else I know needs me. And I found myself liking alternate Astoreth a lot more than I've liked myself in a long time. A lot more, in a long time.

Of course I can't tell Vince that he was what sealed my decision; he'll never shut up about it. I knew that was what Daniel was getting at, almost immediately -- but I wasn't certain that it was what I wanted. We'd only been back together three days, with an agreement to keep it quiet until we were certain it wouldn't be ending tomorrow -- and I still couldn't decide whether he'd actually meant everything he'd said to me, or if he'd just wanted back in my pants. When Daniel mentioned that he'd turned down Angel because he was in love... that was when I knew. That wasn't the old Vince; that was definitely the new Vince he told me he was trying to be. And I couldn't just walk out on him, not like that. Not after he'd handed me everything I'd ever wanted from him, starting with his unconditional love and devotion. He earned a second chance, and I need to give it to him. More importantly, I realized I needed to be there with him.

And yes, I remember all the tough I-don't-need-him things I said. Fuck that shit. Oh, I still don't need him -- but I can still acknowledge that I want him! And I do. I was miserable then, I'm happy now. And he's making it worth the while to give it another shot... and really, if Jacob and Cheyenne can make it work, I have to believe that anyone can. Balthamilazar will have words for me, I am certain... but there are words I must have with him as well.

So in the end Vince and I managed to keep our rekindled romance quiet for all of five days -- and I really think the two days which I spent in alternate realities don't actually count. The universe has a wicked sense of humour... or Cheyenne's father does, at any rate. And I wasn't expecting to feel so relieved and delighted as I did when I found myself in that hotel room, with Vince close by.

Still... I wonder about that other Astoreth, with her other Lucius. I hope she appreciates what she has in him. And I wonder about the choices I make in my own life. And about the choices I must make, very very soon.

A thought has occurred to me: so our unearthly beautiful sorceress is accompanied by a Lost brother with fire-creation powers and an anger-management problem, and one giant of a man with amazing strength and martial prowess. It can hardly be coincidence. I'll have to remind Jacob and Cheyenne not to answer any personal ads for a gunslinging alcoholic and his ample but unappreciative gunslinging girlfriend.

Well. She may be evading us at the moment (and really, the corset trick was just tacky), but in the end the lovely Rosetta Cross and her B-team don't stand a chance against the genuine articles. The sooner she realizes this, gives up and goes home, the better it will go for her.

You frighten him, the Dreamlord told me. "I do?" I asked — outwardly nonchalant, privately a little dismayed, more secretly pleased. Yes, he responded. He's afraid he might have to kill you.

Of course he's afraid of me; I should frighten anyone who understands what I am. And I think he actually does.

But afraid that he might have to kill me?! Kill me! I am the Sorceress Astoreth! In a blink I could stop his heart or cause him to be consumed in flame. With a word and a wave I could destroy him — or own him. His mind and body both could be completely, helplessly mine for the desiring, and he wouldn't even think there was a thing wrong with it unless I let him. He wouldn't have a thought I didn't grant him. Kill me! When I could take his heart and break it without breaking a sweat — that's why he should fear me, sweet gods, yes — and he's afraid he might have to kill me. As though he could.

Of course, the frightening truth of the matter is that there's a chance... a small chance... that he could. I wield more power in my little finger than he does in all the guns and all the fancy martial arts moves and all the whatever he could produce if there were a dozen of him. But I trust him. If he decided to kill me, and didn't let me know until he placed the gun to my temple... well, that would be the end of the Sorceress Astoreth, for all her glory and power... and a truly stupid, ignominous end at that. No. Not happening.

And that's why, though he's done nothing, I can't trust him anymore. Oh, I can trust him to keep his word, and not to shoot me in the back when we're fighting the second or third most powerful sorceress in America today. But with the other details? No. I'll need to keep him away from Alistair and Solitaire... and possibly even Angel, although that will be difficult. I need to keep him out of my home and my personal life. I need to keep him out of my heart. And that last will be hardest, I know. I do care for him, despite myself. I care a great deal more than I should — god damn it, I always have. And it... it gets lonely. His friendship... oh. Oh, I didn't realize until now how much I had come to rely on his friendship.

...it has to be done. He can't know that I know, and I can't forget. It will be the death of me if I do — and I have too much to accomplish to allow that. And I know from experience that it won't hurt forever.

Cheyenne is an idiot. I mean that in the most affectionate way possible. But she has his Idea of herself as being one thing (or maybe wanting one thing) and then she goes out and does the complete opposite. If she's going to have moral objections to prostitution then she needs to not sell herself. And yes, it is that simple and that black-and-white. She keeps acting like it's an accident when she does something not in keeping with the moral code she insists she keeps, and that's just not how it works. And really, I couldn't care less if she wants to sell herself or not; she just needs to figure out what she wants, act accordingly, and quit crying about it. She'll be happier.

Poor Eric. As near as I can tell, she ruined him and then completely ditched him. And you know, I another reason I actually hope Cheyenne chooses to become what she romanticizes herself to be (instead of accepting the "reality" of who she "is") is so she'll quit doing stupid shit like that and making those of us who know what we're doing look bad. Yes, corrupting the innocent is fun, but Eric is a dangerous man -- his brother moreso -- and it's just a miracle that neither Craymore toasted her for breakfast.

I should have realized sooner that Dwayne's "Little Brother" was simply trying to get a rise out of me. I'm slightly embarrassed that I didn't. I might not have, had Little Brother not dared me to tell Dwayne about his breach of my trust -- because right up until that moment, I was really, really angry about it, and hurt that he had betrayed me. I was so upset I couldn't even formulate a cogent argument for Jacob as to why it didn't matter (because really, it completely doesn't). But the moment he made mention of it, I realized that not only had he done it on purpose, but that his purpose in doing it was to hurt Dwayne -- not me at all -- and I won't give him the satisfaction. And I say "won't" because I doubt I've seen the last of him.

...

Vince was surprised that I called, and understandably so. I probably came across as a complete mental case, calling six months later to 'clear the air' about issues that had, apparently, never bothered him at all. But, well, better safe than sorry. And I do care enough about my own integrity and him in general to want to be safe. And he was nice enough about the random call from his crazy ex-girlfriend.

He didn't say it. I didn't really expect him to... but I guess I was hoping he would. I love you. I miss you, perhaps. I was a jerk. Well, okay, he gave me the last, but in that casual shrug-off way he always said everything else from wanna beer? to wanna get married? And it's strange, because I don't think he knows how much it would mean to me for him to say the words and actually mean them... but unlike almost everything else, that's something where I cannot just come out and tell him what I want -- because then he might say it to make me happy -- and if he's just telling me what I want to hear, then it doesn't mean anything at all.

He sounded happy.

I'm still not certain what opportunities exist in Las Vegas that did not in San Francisco — or for that matter, New York — but I wasn't about to argue. A god says "Go where I send thee", you fucking go. So here I am, a proper and legal escort (I haven't decided if the inconvenience of a boss is outweighed by the convenience of a support staff and expense account), rebuilding my other client base practically from scratch... up one pretty pet, back up one faithful familiar, down one unappreciative boyfriend and one prodigal brother, and holding steady with one old friend/steady librarian. I don't feel so much like I'm part of a team anymore, but I am well on my way to building an entourage.

I've learned to drive and have acquired a "sporty" vehicle. I like what they call a "manual transmission"; the control provided is very comfortable. I like going fast.

It feels a little strange, being responsible for none but myself. I may grow to like it.

I thought I was doing the right thing… no, I know I did the right thing. Saving Dagon was absolutely the right thing to do – for him, for me, for us. Even if he now chooses to deny his destiny – and I can’t change his mind – he was and is and always will be my brother. I love him. I could never leave him to the wolves – and I could not stay amongst the wolves that would have torn him to shreds.

Leaving home was the right thing to do. Immersing myself in Outside to secure our survival, keeping Dagon separate and safe, was the right thing to do – it was the only thing to do. I paid a price for it, but it was one I paid gladly. I had Dagon as my touchstone, my rock, my pride and joy; I had Balthamilazar as my conscience and my guide.

But the world is big and features so many temptations! When Balthamilazar was lost, that first time, he took with him much of my history… and then Dagon grew more to appreciate the Outside. And I lost touch with where I came from. I should have realized that something was wrong when Balthamilazar did not return to me, as he always has before – I should have realized that something was wrong with me. But I was stupid and arrogant and blind! I thought I knew where I was going; I knew that with or without my various followers and familiars by my side, I am the Sorceress Astoreth and even now I have only learned to harness a fraction of the power that is my birthright.

I looked for that which could aid me on my journey – and in that light, I cannot be too harsh on myself regarding my first impression of Vincent Anton. He too is powerful, he too has tremendous potential for growth and even now there remains the chance that he could seize that potential, that power and realize his destiny as a King of the Lost – and that then, perhaps, he could be a worthy consort. But whether or not my first impression of him was accurate, the way I behaved regarding it was disgraceful. I am still ashamed and angry at myself – as I should be. For while I courted him, for a time I forgot that there is another purpose to my life, though it may often be shrouded in mystery. I forgot that it is not my destiny to find peace and joy in loving and being loved.

This is the truth that struck home to me three nights ago as I sat crying on my kitchen floor – mere days after the last poisonous words I shared with Vincent as I stormed from his home; just hours after my last vicious fight with Dagon as he slammed the door on mine. This is the truth which once realized – once remembered – caused my breath to calm and my eyes to cease their torrent. And in the stillness, in the strangely quiet solitude, as I felt my heart grow cool and serene (a rock in a garden after the rain) I called out to he whom I had forsaken. And for the first time in months I felt hot sandpaper hands on my shoulders, razor claws gently piercing my bare flesh, leathery wings enveloping me and shielding me from the World as a familiar voice like hot wet gravel whispered sweet child, darling whore, beloved mistress, I’ve been waiting for you.

And I gave myself back to the Darkness.

If I hadn't already made up my mind, that would have made it up for me. As I had, it just hurt.

I hate this. I hate hurting. I thought I had put it behind me. There was one thing -- there always has been one thing that has caused me worry or distress or pain. But besides Dagon, since I was six years old I have been impervious. I can be injured and I can be angered -- gods know I can be angered -- but this nameless, helpless, stabbing pain is all but new to me and I hate it. I feel weak and pitiful and it disgusts me!

The worst part is that it's all my fault. I'm the one who let my guard down, I'm the one who let myself believe his flattery belied true affection behind a veneer of blase arrogance; I mistakenly thought the potential in his future made him a more worthwhile partner in the present, and I let myself get too attached to him. What was I thinking?!? I actually made love to him with no objective beyond our shared pleasure! I was patient with his shortcomings and his misunderstandings. Again and again I offered him help and assistance and reassurance even when he repeatedly demonstrated that he neither wanted nor appreciated what he was being offered. Over and over he showed me that he, among all men in the world, did not know a good thing when he saw it. And yet I trusted him! I -- I loved him. And I let myself be happy with him. Happy.

Well, no more. There is a silver lining to this cloud; as I got myself into this miserable state, I know I can get myself out. Last night Vincent Anton confirmed once and for all that despite my hopes to the contrary, despite his amazing powers and dazzling smile, in the end he is just a man, like every other man in this world. And no mere mortal man can stand up to me; nor does any mere mortal deserve me.

I know now that it was a severe mistake to ever allow myself to fall in love. I won't repeat it.

I didn't know Cheyenne had precognitive visions.


...I wonder if she knows how accurate they are?

Dwayne makes a very bad me. Thank gods he's not actually trying to convince anyone that he is the sorceress Astoreth! I know it can't be that terrible, but he acts like it's the plague; he insists on covering my lovely body with drab and shapeless clothing and skulking about like a grumpy Angel, only less explosively. And when I warned him off taking clients' calls -- "I think I can manage not to be a prostitute for a week" -- seriously, what the fuck! Not that I'd ever doubted that Dwayne would choose not to do something he patently despises in me, but at least I thought to give him a heads-up before he accidentally found himself in a terrible situation; he was managing everything else so badly, I had no reason to think he'd play that one any better.

All I have to say is this: had our roles been switched up a bit, he would have absolutely gotten himself shot.

...he did make the suit look nice, though; I'm going to have to remember that. And I need to ask him how he did that... that kung-fu thing with his hands and feet that he does when he's himself, too. I didn't know I could move that quickly. And I suppose I should be grateful that he hasn't thought to call up everyone in my black book and tell them to go fuck themselves, or otherwise "fix" my life for me...

Maybe I shouldn't be so hard on him. Overnight he went from a 22-year-old uptight professional male scientist and athlete to a 16-year-old self-empowered female soceress and sex goddess; if nothing else, he's probably never seen a girl naked before, and now he is one. So it's probably not easy for him.

Only a couple of days left. There's still a ton of shit to deal with, but it'll be good to get home. It's too bad that it won't be enough time for him to relax enough to actually gain some insight from Being the Sorceress Astoreth... but I suppose we can't have everything.

Here's the thought that occurred to me the other day, when I noticed Vince staring goofily at Angel's chest, and it has stuck with me since.

Given the chance (and the assurance that he wouldn't get shot), Vincent Anton would jump on the opportunity to fuck Cheyenne. He wouldn't think twice. She's got great legs, a nice smile, pretty blond hair and ample bosoms. If she's ready and willing, why not bang her?

I know that I am a shockingly attractive woman. I know that I could have any man I wanted. I know I am a great deal more than any man deserves. And I know in stark contrast to his brother, the only reason Jacob Monroe ever came close to laying a willing finger on me was that he thought I was her.

The difference is not Cheyenne; I'm better than Cheyenne. I'm smarter, lovelier, and more powerful than she. The difference is in a man who knows a good thing when he sees it.

I feel strongly about Vince. I want to say I love him, but that sounds too needy in this context. I identify with him. I think he has wonderful potential. He can keep up with me, which is notable in and of itself -- and there are so many ways I think we could be good for each other. But he doesn't appreciate me... and I deserve a man who does.

And I keep telling myself that I'll deal with this crap when everything else is done. But it won't stop bothering me. And I wish it would leave me the fuck alone.

It's interesting; I'm accustomed to men staring at my face.

Other than that, once the initial shock passed adjustment came quickly. Details of hair color and cup size aside, Cheyenne and I aren't that physically different (poor Dwayne and Cheyenne! But I am surprisingly disappointed that I don't get to try it out, myself) and moving in her body has come fairly naturally. I figured out how to drive a car and fire a gun easily enough; I can walk in her shoes and even if her clothing style isn't mine it's not bad. And it's not like I don't have plenty of practice in convincing men that I'm whatever they want me to be.

I keep thinking that I really ought to feel bad about sleeping with Jacob... but then I can't. So far the best I've managed is a small twinge of guilt that I've lied to Cheyenne about sleeping with Jacob. But I didn't lie very well (I lied terribly, in fact), so I'm certain she knows. And of course Jacob knows, and until worse things happened I'm certain they were both just biding their time until I was back in my own body so they could shoot me together. I'd rather deserve it.

The strange thing is, I meant to just play along until he went back to sleep. (Not that that excuse is going to work on the two of them, because they know it's not like I would refrain from seducing Jacob Monroe if I wanted to - it's just that if I were going to seduce the man, I would do it with my own face.) And I think he would have realized I wasn't Cheyenne if he wasn't half-asleep already anyway - only awake because I'd been hopping around in a screeching panic at finding myself blonde, lightly tanned and surgically enhanced - and he had no reason to think I wasn't her, seeing as I was in her body and acting just like any woman might after a bad nightmare, including Cheyenne... so I was certain that with a little snuggling he'd probably drift right back off, and then I could sneak out and start figuring out what the fuck was going on and how the hell to fix it. So I let him pull me close, and mumble sweetly and sleepily to me - none of which was a problem. And I let him kiss me, which also wasn't a problem -- and I kissed him back, as I have done so many men, so that wasn't the problem. And he drew his fingers lightly over my skin and... and...

...and then Cheyenne's psychometry kicked in. And that was definitely a problem.

Suddenly I didn't just look like Cheyenne; I felt like Cheyenne. I know it's wrong to say that I was her -- but I felt what she feels when Jacob holds her. And I felt what he feels when she's in his arms. And not just the sensation of his arms around her at that moment, but the echoes of so many other moments just like it, rising up and crashing over me in waves - an ocean of... of love and warmth and devotion and a thousand other fulfilling feelings I cannot describe. It was so different from anything I've ever experienced. It felt perfect and right, and so so wonderful. And I wanted more; of course I wanted more. And there wasn't a damn thing wrong with it -- it never occurred to me that there could be anything wrong with it. Nothing in the world is more right than two people deeply in love. Nothing more blessed, nothing more beautiful. Nothing.

Afterwards... well, it wasn't until after Jacob answered the phone from an absurdly hysterical Astoreth that something started bothering my conscience. And it took me a moment to puzzle out what it could possibly be.

...

Let's get this out of the way right away: I don't want Jacob Monroe. If I ever did, I don't now. It's not that he's not fucking amazing in bed, because he is; I've never known a man so attentive. It's that he's in love with Cheyenne. What I experienced was meant for her. And perhaps that's another thing to feel guilty about, that I took something of hers -- but I enjoy it so much, I don't think I'd give it back if I could; and maybe that's wrong, but at least it's honest. Point being, I could entrance and seduce Jacob through the end of days and never experience that again -- because it would never be in him to give to me. And I don't love him enough to meet him halfway: what I felt that night was not just his love by Cheyenne's as well, and that's something I never expected and I do not have in myself and I certainly cannot fake. I know now that I can create quite a fine imitation of love for someone who has never experienced the real thing, or who for his own reasons is willing to believe the illusion... but my charade pales in comparison to the real thing. Any imitation would pale.

But it is that true pure love, that feeling itself -- that feeling of being in perfect harmony with another person, and he with me -- that, that I want. Oh gods do I want it! I never knew it existed before, and now I want it so badly it hurts.

And it hurts all the more because I don't know where to even begin to find it. That I know the obvious starting point is... unlikely, at best... just makes it hurt worse.

But right now I can't even focus on that. I think I owe it to Cheyenne to make certain that I give her body and her boyfriend back to her in an equivalent condition to what they were when I got them, and that effort is occupying most of my time and energy.

And Vince most of all. What the fuck is wrong with him??? I'm still the same woman, but now he's treating me like a child. And he's terrified of me -- there I was, being all contrite and appealing so he could play the hero, and instead he jumps away like I've got the plague. And like he's one to talk anyway!

Well, fuck him, and fuck his subjective morality. And I swear to the gods I am never "coming clean" again. Not that I will embark on unnecessary dishonesty... but god damn it, from now on once a lie is told, it's staying told.

I hate him. I hate everyone. I'm going to take Dagon and go live in the woods, where only people who know how to properly appreciate us will be safe from the terrible smiting we will unleash upon the world.

For all my brave words and good intentions, I can't do it. I keep working with the token I was able to save, and... I can't get anything from it. There's nothing there to get. Where-ever Dwayne is, he's beyond my grasp. I would think that Lucius destroyed his soul when he killed him, but Joshua's account and the recording don't support that, so Dwayne must be... well, I suppose he is where-ever his God saw fit to send him.

And that's... good. Yes.

So now, what can I say?

Dear Dwayne, we did not meet under perfect circumstances, and I do not think we ever came to truly understand each other. We found little things about each other to admire but even more about each other to disparage and pick upon and make fun of and try passive-aggressively to change. I did not (still do not) understand the importance of the government you served so devotedly, just as you do not understand my faith in the Dark Ones. We both decried the other's lack of common sense and appropriate behavior.

But for all our disagreements, once I came to know you I never doubted that you had my best interests at heart. For all that we disagreed on what my best interests might be, you never wished me ill. You never held what you viewed as my faults against me, you aided me and my brother as much as you could, and on the few occasions that I came to doubt myself and my calling you proved yourself an unexpected yet unimpeachable support.

I cared for you greatly and I will miss you. I do miss you. I hope you are at peace.

I believe tonight saw the closest that Vincent Anton will ever come to crying.

He didn't actually cry, of course; his pride would never allow it. But he held me close, and told me over and over again in a hushed voice that he never really wanted Lucius to die. And there was really nothing for me to do but hold him and hush him and tell him I knew. It was far too late for I-told-you-so's, far too late to worry about what might have been if only different paths had been chosen.

If there is any consolation here, it may be that Vince can sleep a little easier once this passes. His grief over the brother who betrayed him will fade in the face of Vince's responsibility to his Lost, and as their love comes to replace the affection he missed from his brother the pain will subside.

I'm still too angry to grieve. Of course I'm sorry that Vince is in pain; I don't even want to think about the death of my own brother, and even though Vince's brother hardly lived up to the name I can imagine that it must still strike deep at his heart. But Lucius died in attempting to murder Vince and destroy Vince's adopted family; he fucked with the hearts and lives of everyone around them as though they were his puppets, and perhaps worst of all he did it under the guise of bettering the world. Lucius abandoned his greatest duty, and then rather than own up to his deeds tried to blame the boy he abandoned for "forcing" his hand. Fuck him, I hate him. I would have saved his life to save Vince from this, but Lucius Anton was a coward, a liar, an abuser, a murderer, and a degenerate politician, and the world is better off for having that particular blot of scum removed from it.

It seems Jacob is dealing better... which shouldn't be surprising. Of course Jacob being a good man carries guilt for the death of his younger brother, but considering that Jacob didn't know Lucius existed until a matter of weeks ago it's hardly surprising that he didn't develop a strong attachment. Meanwhile, he and Vince have seemed to be connecting better of late, so perhaps eventually they can find in each other what Lucius denied them both.

For now, I hear that Jacob and Cheyenne are off for Hawaii. I'm glad they get a vacation, although I don't know what either of them are going to do once relieved of the pressures of work. Possibly tear each other to shreds; we'll see. Vince is going to return to his gang; they need an older brother, and he's just officially been granted the job he's been filling all along. He's also a good man, and will do fine.

Me... I have research to do. Lucius took something from me that I will not abide. And I don't care how difficult it is, I will do it. When Robert was shouting at me that it's never been done, it can't be done, it's far beyond me at any rate, all I could hear was Dwayne's voice from a few nights ago: "Don't tell me you've lost faith in yourself, Astoreth!" And I haven't. I won't. Lucius took so much from us these last few months; he will not keep Dwayne. I swear it.

I can't do it. I won't do it. Why should he make the rules? Why should he be allowed to get away with doing something wrong because the rules he made say he can? And why am I the only one who seems willing to stand up against this madness?!?

It was all Lucius, from the beginning. He controls Gabriel. He controls that lunatic from the asylum. He knows enough of our weak points and liabilities to be able to use them against us, to push us in the direction he wants... but now that we know this is what he's doing, why are we still letting him do it?!? We have the power to stop. Even if we cannot stop Lucius, we can stop ourselves. We don't have to let him push us around.

Vince knows now that Lucius blackmailed me specifically to hurt him -- yet Vince is insistent on giving Lucius exactly what he wants. Because "that's how it has to be". Dark Lord knows I don't truly care to sit back and do nothing... but there have got to be options for Vince besides "shoot the fuck out of Lucius". And even Vince admits that it's possible that that's what Lucius wants... but he still refuses to see other solutions.

If Vince attacks Lucius, it means the end for the Lost. Lucius will kill him -- I would almost think that Lucius would have done it already, but provoking Vince to attack him will let Lucius lie to himself and his sycophants even more cruelly and claim that it was self-defense. I wager he will cry the loudest at his brother's graveside, even as he lets the world develop the conviction that Vince and the Lost are terrorists... and then Lucius will turn around and proceed to destroy everything Vince stood to protect. All the Lost, scattered and destroyed... Angel, Anthony... Loa, who's never hurt a soul but lives in his own world; John, who wants nothing more than to go home and live a normal life. A scarce few will be safe if they play their cards right -- Cheyenne among them -- but most of them will be destroyed, in spirit if not in body. I know Dagon will go to defend his friends... and I know he will never let himself be taken alive.

Then there's Jacob... and really, I could kill the man right now. He too is caught in the fallacy that Lucius can tell him what to do. Jacob lets Lucius lie, and get away with lying -- and all Jacob can see to do is try to outrun the lies. Why don't we cease his lying?! Why don't we combat his fiction with truth! The truth is that Lucius blackmailed me into trapping Vince and Jacob for him, that he was planning to kill me (and the more I think about it, possibly Jacob), but not until he'd sufficiently tortured me... and now he's twisted the truth into vicious, scandalous lies and is trying to use them against us. Jacob says that we have no proof of what happened -- Lucius has no proof to back his story any better than ours! But Jacob doesn't believe that, or doesn't care. And so he's doing stupid things like resigning his post (and then claiming he can't reclaim it -- seriously, what the fuck kind of stupid rule is that) and becoming a happy vigilante on the excuse that "that's how it has to be". Stupid!

What it comes down to is that both of them -- not to mention Cheyenne, Robert, John, everyone else -- are buying into Lucius' fiction that he holds all the cards and he makes the rules. He does NOT make the rules... and what my friends fail to see is that the only reason Lucius has any power over any of us is because we give it to him. Even myself -- I didn't have to fuck him -- I could have told Sarge to take his "offer" and shove it up his ass; Dagon's capable of protecting himself and I owe Cheyenne nothing. I could cry pathetically and say "I had no choice! He was going to kill those boys!" but the fact is that I chose to participate, I chose to give him power over me, I chose to play his game because I didn't see a way not to and still keep that which I hold dear. But I'm not playing his fucking game any more. It's well past time we started making our own rules.

No, seriously. Fuck them in the ass.

So Dagon and I have been living Outside for about a year now. I'm not certain of the exact date we left... but it was just after my birthday, so this is as good a day as any to declare an anniversary.

I've adapted more than Dagon has. I won't say better because I don't know if it is, in fact, better; more and more lately Dagon surprises me by reminding me of things I should know. I've been Outside long enough that I've started to think more like people raised Outside -- which is good for keeping us safely hidden among them, but bad for staying on the Path. But perhaps this is the way it needs to be... preservation of Dagon's integrity is far more important than my own, and I can trust him to remind me when I need reminding. His care is mine, but this much I can allow.

I've started more and more to characterize things that I take for normal as wrong when in fact they are just different. But since Outside considers them wrong, it's easier to say wrong than it is to say different or more accurately unacceptable by the senseless and arbitrary standards of Outside society and have to embark on an explanation. Avoiding explanation is an acceptable objective because to survive Outside Dagon and I have to be able to blend in. If I start spouting off that a properly-educated girl is perfectly capable of making her own choices by the time she receives her moon's blessing, so preventing her from exercising her own judgment as regards her own body is patently ridiculous — regardless of the fact that it's true — I'm going to draw attention to myself. And drawing the attention of fearful ignorants to the abilities of myself and my brother is to ensure our doom, so taking the easy way out in this situation is actually the correct choice... but I am noticing that more and more, the beliefs are seeping into my subconscious through my word choice, and I must be on guard for that.

But enough of that for now. Now, I will record some interesting things I have learned in my time Outside, as a reminder to myself in future days.

• Men are easily influenced. All one has to do is appeal to their baser instincts.
• ...unless the men in question are Dwayne or Jacob.
• Women are bitchy.
• The government likes to make excuses for itself. For example: the people in government know that taking other people's property is wrong. However, because they want to take other people's property, they have invented a thing called a warrant which they say "allows" them to do it — all so they can pretend that it's not wrong.
• There is no Martha of any note at Martha's Vineyard.
• Free will, while good, also makes people stupid.
• Boys are stupid and egotistical. Especially boys with purple hair who can't talk about their feelings.
• Somewhere along the line I... umm... picked up feelings.

That last is overstated, of course; I have always had feelings. I love my brother. I cared for my greater family, as I do now for my friends. I feel pride and joy in my accomplishments. I am humbled and honored to serve the Champion. But the feelings I have now... no. I shall come back to that.

I'm prettier than she is. And more graceful and mature. And regardless of what those impressionable fools in the Queen's court thought, I know my sorcerous ability far exceeds hers. She's a one-trick pony with good representation, and that's it.

And besides, if she doesn't step back and I don't kill her, Cheyenne surely will.

I had to say it first, of course. (Of course. Men and their fucking egos!)

But I still think he meant it. :-)

I don't actually mind being told what to do. People can tell me what to do all they like, and I am happy to just laugh at them and ignore it.

What I hate is being forced into doing something I don't want. Whether it's a large man preventing my rightful exit with my own personal property, a person holding a gun on me to compel obedience, or someone attempting lamely to disguise blackmail as a "business proposition" to my benefit... I hate being controlled. At six years old I learned that I held power over the universe around me and no man or woman could claim to be my master unless I allowed it, unless I chose to allow it - and I knew even then that that was the right and proper order of things. Those who attempt to defy that proper order will find the order arighting itself, and Dark One willing I would ever be the agent of that righteousness.

But I know there is a great deal of power yet awaiting me that I have not yet come into. Someday that man with his handpiece of metal and black powder will not be a threat to me... but today, while I am still tied to this mortal flesh and I have not perfected my ability to protect it (or to summon instantly those spirits who can protect it for me) I must weigh the value of consenting to his requests against the value of my own life. Someday a fool will threaten those I care about and I will laugh at him before I crush him utterly, but today, though I am a woman grown as humans measure it I am but a child coloring between the lines in the eyes of the spirits and agents of the Dark. A powerful child, but one still tied to her tools and her rituals and her tricks to summon and compel the Darkness to my whim.

Whatever he wants of me, it can't be good for me. If it was only bad for others then payment would be sufficient; he would not need to threaten me, he would not need to force my hand. If it wasn't bad for me he wouldn't be so reluctant to hide his ultimate intentions. I don't like not understanding the potential consequences of my actions; I abhor being unable to choose my future because some arrogant jackass is deliberately keeping me ignorant of the factors here. And the threats he makes... I should destroy him. I should destroy him. I should snatch away that of mine which he holds, gracefully and effortlessly, and grant him a mere moment of sputtering frustration and dawning horror before I have him rent to pieces. I educated the departed Lady Devere on the consequences of fucking with those whom the sorceress Astoreth holds dear, and skillfully too....

But... I cannot. I could have him rent, of course, but it is still so much work for me that if he tells the truth (and I've no reason to think he is not telling the truth - and even if he is bluffing... can I take the risk that he is not bluffing?) he would know what I was doing and he would counter it before I had half-finished.

Good god - as I think about this more, the more I realize he was right about me in one aspect: I am a mercenary. Were it not for this overboding feeling of dread - the knowledge that it must be terribly worse for me than he's letting on, or he wouldn't be going to such effort to guard himself against my as-yet-theoretical desire to enforce my will on him - I wouldn't have a problem with the assignment. He's paying well; I've sold my body to other men for far less. The act itself is nothing at all. Then the only problem would be... well, there will definitely be problems.

For now I simply ask myself "What is my will?" What do I desire, what are my goals, what do I wish to do? And I wish to keep the boys safe. To keep the boys safe, I must either find a way to overwhelm he who threatens them, or I must do as he says. I don't think I can overwhelm him, so.

And when I look at it like that, it seems so simple! Sacrifice is not new to me! But in this case, I don't really know what I'm sacrificing, do I? What if, in trying to do right, I do wrong? I act out of a desire to save two boys from harm... but am I bringing others to worse harm?

I wish I could talk to Dwayne about this. Something tells me there's a "moral" answer to this question, and I have no idea how to find it.

Not that it matters. What will be done will be done.