Tara sat atop a roof sucking a lollipop overlooking the village square. The night was young, the villagers were angry and the candy tasted divine. Blueberry was the flavor. Not her favorite but it was good nevertheless. She sucked on it vigorously. Down below a man in rags was led from a building (most likely the jail) by villagers with pitchforks over to the middle of the square where more of the armed individuals waited.

They formed two lines. Men on each side. Women were not part of the formation. Tara's head tilted to the side.

"Gauntlet," she said to the shadows around her. Even though they took no shape nor had any names to speak of, they were living entities just the same and she knew they could not only hear her but understand her as well. "They'll make him run it. He looks weak. I don't think he'll make it," she said and licked that lollipop once more.

From below she heard one of the villagers cry out. Just as she thought the man in rags was condemned to run the gauntlet. His crime" Getting his hands on the farmer's daughter. Tara giggled despite the severity of the situation. Fathers could be so very irrational at times. She knew. She had herself five or six of them in the seven hundred years she'd been walking the planes. Lucius, her current father, was not so irrational as he was rumored to be but he could be psychotic at the drop of a hat if pushed hard enough. He was the kind of father that would normally ask questions first but if you pissed him off really good or if he ascertained any member of his family was in danger, you could expect to find yourself at the bottom of a ditch somewhere after he beat you senseless and confiscated all your limbs.

Let it never be said that Lucius DeAuster never provided for his family.

The man in rags looked weary as he was shoved toward the opening of the gauntlet. The men waiting there for him were growling, snarling and shaking their weapons—not just pitchforks but other things they found, anything they could get their hands on Tara guessed—and demanding he be put to the age-old test. There was a sigh from the petite vampiress as she handed over the lollipop to the nearest shadow and dove off the roof.

She would have to save this man. It was not out of pity or even a desire to save a human life she was normally used to taking. It was because she had come to sit on that roof to get some peace and quiet and the longer this lynching went on, the less likely that was going to happen. She landed next to the decrepit fountain whose base was all cracked and cleared her throat.

A quiet gesture but it seemed to get the attention of all the villagers at once. They turned their heads at the same time and looked at her. As luck would have it the first person she laid her eyes on was the village priest. Least he looked like one with the huge crucifix hanging around his neck. She smiled at him.

"Excuse me but I was wondering if I could perhaps ask all of you to pipe down?" she asked with that same sweet smile the Rhy'Dinians she hung around were used to seeing from her before she did something dreadful.

The priest blinked. "Who are you and what business do you have here?"

He was direct and to the point. Tara could appreciate that in a man.

"I am Tara Rynieyn an' may I say the church roof is the most comfortable place aside from my throne" I like it very much an' the gargoyles are very accommodating."

The crowd began to whisper and murmur. From what her hearing picked up they all were wondering how she had gotten on top of the church roof to start with and what exactly she had meant by that gargoyle comment. The man in rags said nothing but he was thinking along the same lines as those who would condemn him. This she found very odd. Here he was about to die and in a pretty violent and grotesque manner nonetheless and all he could wonder was how she had gotten up on the roof? It was amazing.

While the villagers puzzled out her sudden appearance she approached the man. The smile on her face dimmed.

"Hello," she said simply.

"Allo," he replied just the same.

"What is yer name?" she asked.

"Morgan," he offered and extended a shaky hand.

Instead of shying away from it out of her constant fear of germs, she took his hand, pulled him toward her roughly and wrapped her other arm around his waist.

"Well, Morgan, I'd say yer in a pickle an' since it is you who has caused all this fuss an' it is interfering in my itinerary for the eve, I'm going to help you do this thing," she whispered.

"What...thing" Who are you? Don't touch me there," he said and tried to push her hands away.

She nodded toward the tunnel of men. "That...thing, the name's Tara Rynieyn an' if you dun quit fidgetin, I'm gonna have to smack you."

He shook his head. "Nay, woman, I cannot permit that. You could be harmed or worse," he said. "This is my punishment and besides, women are usually put to the stocks. They do not make them suffer this."

"I know. I come from a place as medieval-minded as this," she said and batted her lashes.

"There is no way to escape this. You cannot help me," he said with a frown.

"Trust me, Morgan. You have to run it whether I was here or not, yes?"

"Yes."

"So do not worry about me. I can hear yer thoughts. You wonder how it was that I got up on that roof. If I am some angel, yes?"

"Yes."

"Well, I'm not exactly an angel but I've got some similar abilities like them. An' right now I'm yer only hope for survival. Now, let's get this over with," she said, released his hand and stepped behind him.

The priest spoke up. "Woman, you must not interfere in this man's punishment."

"Hold onto your crucifix, holy man, I'm not interfering but joining him."

"What do you mean, joining him?"

"I plan to run the gauntlet with Morgan here."

"For what reason' You are not condemned to die."

"For my own reason an' that's what you think," she said with a grin and a wink.

"Step aside!"

"I shall not," she said firmly and turned to a man she thought looked important enough to make the rules. He was wearing the best-looking clothes out of the bunch and had some sort of insignia on his breast. She thought he might be the mayor or town official. "Excuse me but are you in charge around here?"

The man nodded. "I am."

"That's what I thought. Tell me then is there a rule that says those who must run the gauntlet must do so alone?"

"Not specifically, no, but who would be crazy enough to join someone condemned to such a fate?"

"I would be that crazy."

"I see," he said with a snort.

"And does the law not state that the one who passes through to the end of the gauntlet must go free?"

"Aye, it does."

"Then let us tarry not. I have a lollipop to suck," she said with determination and that psychotic smile of hers.

The villagers stared at her in disbelief. She put her hand up. "It's not a euphemism, I assure you. I really do have a lollipop," she said with a giggle.

The priest stepped forward. "I really must protest."

"And I really must tell you to get on with it, holy man. Time is a-wastin," she said and her eyes flashed red.

He immediately stepped back. Did his holy mumbo jumbo. Said what he believed to be comforting words to the condemned, that being poor Morgan, and then nodded to the mayor.

Morgan turned his head to look at her over his shoulder. "You are insane. I beg you, leave me," he said.

She wrapped her arms tightly around his waist and hugged him tightly. "An' I said for you to trust me. Now, run, Morgan. Run as if yer life depended on it," she said and nudged him forward.

"But it doooooooooooeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeees!"

Tara was not one for statistics though she had spent a great deal of her life reading texts on a variety of subjects that did not always fit with her personal interests. Her true father, that being Silas Lockheed, once told her that it was important to be well-read. That knowledge was power and even if one did not particularly like a certain subject one should always try to keep an open mind and learn whatever they could because you never know when that information could prove useful.

She did not ever recall reading how many people had survived running the gauntlet but common sense told her that number was perhaps very low if it had a number aside from zero at all. The punishment was gruesome, truth be told. Men on each side beating the person running between them viciously with implements such as clubs, maces, flails. Anything really. Just like there was no law on the books that said the condemned had to run it alone, there was similarly no law that stated what tools had to be used. It was grab what you could and hope you made contact, if you were the one on the sidelines and run like hell and hope you made it through alive, if you were the one running.

In all honesty communal punishments such as these always annoyed Tara. She was the type that liked to fight her battles head on. One to one. It made little sense to her that an entire community had to get in on the festivities when the quarrel was usually between two or three people at the most. Why the rest of the villagers were expected to participate and get their hands bloody confused her. What business was it of theirs if Morgan was screwing the farmer's daughter" Wouldn't it make more sense to have the farmer fight Morgan himself" It sure would have made it more fair in her opinion.

And that was really why she was offering her assistance here. It was unfair so she thought she'd even the score a little by shoving Morgan through the gauntlet with all her might and the speed that all Vampire from every former walk of life was gifted with, even as he screamed at the top of his lungs because he did not understand what was happening to him. A speed that was inhuman and impossible to see clearly with human eyes. It took all of four seconds for Tara to get Morgan through that gauntlet and bring them both to a stop. But it took perhaps a minute or so afterwards for the villagers to realize they were cheated when they began to beat on each other instead of Morgan as he was simply not there to beat. She heard them all shrieking and crying out in pain and turned to behold the chaos she had created.

Now that was one for the statisticians. How many times she had caused chaos" She thought perhaps it was impossible to put a number on it just as it was impossible to see her Flashing if you were not a fellow vampire. Looking to Morgan she saw he was unharmed and smiled.

"That was easy," she said and brushed herself off. Somehow while running her dressed seemed to have picked up some dust and her nose wrinkled in disgust. Behind her, the villagers were nursing their wounds and both the mayor and the priest were looking shocked.

"How did you..." Morgan started to ask but was too confused to finish his own sentence.

"You have two choices. You can spend the rest of yer life wondering how I managed to do what it is I did or you can go find that girl you love and spend the rest of yer life telling her she is the most beautiful woman in the world an' you cannot imagine waking up next to anyone more lovely. Yer free, Morgan. Go," she said and shooed him away.

"But I do not understand," he said.

"You don't have to understand. All you have to know is that yer still alive an' you can breathe the free air. Act as if, Morgan," she said.

"Act as if?"

"Act as if you do understand. No one has to know you really don't but if you behave as if you do then others around you will follow suit. Natural born leaders understand this principle. It's high time you adopt it as yer own if you plan to survive from hereonin. This place you live in is a zoo an' if I lived in a place where everyone was out for blood all the time—an' I do, Morgan, believe you me, I do—I'd start thinking of ways to counterbalance all this insanity. The farmer's daughter...what is her name?"

"Elaine," he said with a proud smile.

"A pretty name. Now go find Elaine an' make her yer wife. You earned that. I suspect the farmer won't argue that an' should he protest then remember to act as if you already have her because what you may not realize an' perhaps even he does not realize is that you do. She is yers. You almost died for her. There's very little he can do to you now to stop that. So go claim her an' wipe that befuddled look off yer face. You could use a bath an' a shave too. Maybe even some clean clothes. You look like you crawled out of a haypile," she said with a sneer.

He grinned. "I don't know what to say other than thank you. You may not be an angel, Tara Rynieyn, but today you were mine," he said and ran off. "Act as if!" he cried, raising his fist in the air triumphantly.

Tara blushed. She loved a good compliment from a handsome man and Morgan, while not as hot as say, Anubis Karos, wasn't half bad. Then she looked toward the writhing villagers on the ground and her face dropped. They were pitiful. As she walked toward the mayor, stepping on and off a villager here and there, ignoring their grunts and groans, she thought about that lollipop.

"I'm afraid I must take my leave now," she announced to mayor and priest alike.

They stared at her dumbfounded. She turned to the priest next.

"As for yer church roof, I think I shall visit it 'gain someday. I only pray that the next time I do I am not interrupted as I was here this night," she said and gestured to the villagers on the ground. The one villager nearest her coughing up blood, looked up at her weakly and she pressed his head back down with her foot. He groaned in despair. She snickered.

The mayor and the priest began to stutter. It seemed as if they were trying to ask her questions, were trying to form the words but were having some trouble despite their very best efforts. She ignored them as well and leapt up in the air until she came to the roof. The shadows there, having kept careful watch over the proceedings and at least one of them over her treasured lollipop, handed the candy on a stick over to her. She took it with a smile and before she popped it back in her mouth and flew off to some other place as yet undetermined, she called down to the villagers for the last time.

"Do yerselves a favor! Get a guillotine! It's faster!"