Topic: Two Sides of the Same Coin - XPosted

Riley ORourke

Date: 2010-02-08 14:38 EST
Let me watch by the fire and remember my days
And it may be a trick of the firelight
But the flickering pages that trouble my sight
Is a book I'm afraid to write

It's the book of my days, it's the book of my life
And it's cut like a fruit on the blade of a knife
And it's all there to see as each section reveals
There's some sorrow in every life

If it reads like a puzzle, a wandering maze
Then I won't understand 'til the end of my days
I'm still forced to remember,
Remember the words of my life

There are promises broken and promises kept
Angry words that were spoken, when I should have wept
There's a chapter of secrets, and words to confess
If I lose everything that I possess
There's a chapter on loss and a ghost who won't die
There's a chapter on love where the ink's never dry
There are sentences served in a prison I built out of lies.

Though the pages are numbered
I can't see where they lead
For the end is a mystery no-one can read
In the book of my life
~ Sting "Book Of My Life"

I have been a lycanthrope for eleven years now. The world has gone through some amazing changes during that time. I have played an instrumental role in some of those changes.

But maybe I've gotten ahead of myself. If I am to tell the story of my life so far, it wouldn't do to give away the ending, now would it? As Frauline Maria said, ?Let's start the very beginning, a very good place to start.?

I was born in August of 1979, in a sleepy, rural suburb of Boston, located about half an hour west of the city. My father, Michael, was (and still is) the preeminent heart surgeon in the state...possibly all of New England. He was educated at Harvard, which is where he met my mother, Keiko Fujiyama. She was born and raised in Kyoto, Japan, and is now a professor of Japanese culture and history at Tufts University.

Since I was their only child, I was spoiled rotten. Indeed, I was Daddy's Girl and enjoyed all the attention, love and devotion my parents could give. My every whim and desire was instantly addressed and I never wanted for anything. Despite this ? or perhaps because of it ? I was a very easy-going child and did not at all display any of the normal behaviours of spoilt children. I was not bossy or demanding; I did not throw fits if I was not afforded my own way. Instead, I was popular with my friends and school mates, friendly, out-going and prone to easy laughter.

This all changed during the autumn of my tenth year. For reasons I'd rather not go into, my entire outlook on life changed. My personality underwent a drastic shift. No more was I outgoing and happy. No more was I trusting and accepting. I became withdrawn, moody and distrusting of everyone, except my parents and my paternal grandfather.

Grampa O'Rourke was a force of nature and my personal saviour. A life-long prosecutor, he had held the position of District Attorney in Boston for twenty-five years and had, during that long reign, put away hundreds of murderers, rapists, drug-dealers, thieves and various other criminals.

I went to one of his trials ? the case of a child rapist ? during the winter school break in 1989. I sat quietly in the gallery and watched as my grandfather, a physically large man standing nearly six-and-a-half-feet tall and commanding in his bespoke-tailored Gieves & Hawkes three-piece suit, masterfully dissected the defence's case, piece by piece. I watched as the jury returned with a unanimous verdict of guilty. I watched as the judge commended my grandfather's case and then sent the rapist to jail for no less than twenty years. I knew my grandfather had, in part, been so single-minded in his pursuit of justice because I was present in the audience. But more than that, he knew that what the rapist had done was worthy of the full impact of the law.

I knew at that moment what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. I wanted to have the same control over those who would buck society's laws and harm the innocent. I wanted to be a lawyer.

Riley ORourke

Date: 2010-02-08 14:38 EST
I spent the next eight years spending every moment of my free time reading about America's legal system. I learned the laws of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts forward and backward. I could recite the Constitution ? in its entirety ? from memory by the time I was twelve years old. My other interests ? ballet and piano ? fell by the wayside as I threw myself head-long into everything having to do with the law.

I suppose that it was a forgone conclusion that I would attend law school by the time I was a junior in high school. It was just a question of where. My parents, of course, were rallying for me to attend both undergraduate and law school at Harvard. Grampa O'Rourke, though, was quietly pushing me towards Boston College and Boston University. He had attended BU for his undergraduate degree in political science and abnormal psychology, and had been a member of the Order of the Coif while getting his law degree at Boston College. Of course, since my hero had attended BU and BC, that is where I ended up. I think my parents were a touch disappointed that I hadn't gone to Harvard, but I couldn't be dissuaded. I had a plan and would not deviate from it.

While my peers were partying and taking easy courses during their senior years, I worked harder than I ever had before. I was taking college-level and advanced placement courses in everything, I was captain of the debate team, editor of the school's newspaper, and volunteering twenty hours a week in Grampa's office. I didn't attend senior prom, mostly because I didn't have a boyfriend (who would want to date the tall, gangly, flat-chested law nerd?) and because, I think, the boys were honestly too intimidated to ask me.

I graduated from high school with a 4.0 GPA, and was nominated to be the valedictorian. I passed up this honour, however, in favour of getting a jump-start on my legal career. I worked, full time, in Grampa's office during the summer, helping prepare and file briefs, sitting in on pre-trial hearings, and meeting with defence attorneys. It was invaluable experience and I really didn't mind not having a social life and partying with friends out on Cape Cod.

September of 1997 began a whole new chapter in my life. Despite living so close to the campus, I insisted that I live in the dorms at BU. I thought that it would help me get used to the idea of being on my own and away from the safety net of my parents. As we moved my things into my dorm room, I remember hoping that I'd get a good roommate, someone quiet and serious like me. Oh, boy, was I wrong.

Riley ORourke

Date: 2010-02-08 14:39 EST
Phillipa ?Pippa? Westmoreland came as something of a shock to me. A tiny, fierce blonde with the personality of a battering ram, she was the exact opposite of the quiet and serious student I thought I wanted to live with. She was bubbly, fun, out-going and was pursuing a degree in French Literature, a degree picked because it was utterly useless but still fulfilled her mother's dream of having a daughter with a college degree.

Pippa had decided after watching a string of dead-beat, unemployed mooches blunder through her mother's life that she would marry rich and stay married forever. And considering her skills with the opposite sex, she would have absolutely no problem with this plan.

Despite my almost complete lack of social skills, Pippa and I became fast friends. She began to draw me out of my shell, fighting tooth and nail for every campus party I attended, every club I went to with her. She even got me a boyfriend, a frat boy called Blake Symington. I didn't begrudge Pippa the horrible break-up I had with Blake, when he told me that I was a frigid bitch after I refused to sleep with him. The event served to bring Pippa and I closer, especially after she publicly dressed him down, in front of all of his frat brothers, two sorority houses, and many of the theatre students. In fact, a one-act play was written about this scene by one of those students. The play went on to win various awards for writing and launched the career of BU-alum and Oscar-winner Heaven Stevens. It's true; look it up.

Pippa, for her part, had landed a keeper. His name was Andrew Gavin, and he was a left defensiveman for BU's ice hockey team. He was a brilliant player and captain of the team. But more than that, he was kind, funny, and above all, a gentleman. His gentle personality was most likely due to the fact that he was from a tiny farm just outside of Toronto and had grown up milking cows before school and playing hockey after school.

I declared my major during the beginning of my sophomore year. My academic adviser tried to tell me that I had an entire year to decide my major, but she didn't understand that I had a Plan. I knew precisely what I wanted to do with the rest of my life and nothing anyone could say or do would keep me from fulfilling that Plan.

Riley ORourke

Date: 2010-02-08 14:39 EST
By early November of 1998, I was a declared psychology major and Pippa and Andy had been together for nearly a year. We were happy in our own, strange little clique. Pippa and I were regulars at hockey games and occasionally travelled out of town to see the team play at away games. One of the players, the right defensiveman and Andy's best friend, an obscenely tall boy called Peter Colbjornssen, began an awkward and endearingly sweet campaign for a date with me.

Eventually, under the pressure of Pippa's constant badgering, I agreed to go on a double date with Peter, Andy and Pippa. A few days before the Thanksgiving break, Pippa dressed me ? skin-tight blue jeans, tiny emerald green tank, knee-high black boots with a three-inch heel, which made me six foot even ? did my hair and make-up, and dragged me from our dorm. Andy and Peter arrived soon after and we went to dinner at a local burger joint. Then after more badgering, this time from all three of them, I agreed to drive out to a deserted beach on Cape Cod, and spend a little time getting to know Peter - code words, I'm sure, for "have a hot, heavy make-out session with Peter".

We split up into pairs, Andy and Pippa going off with a bottle of J?germeister and a joint, Peter and I sitting somewhat awkwardly on top of a picnic table, each armed with cans of Coors. The moon was full and had limned the waves and the sand with silver. Peter and I talked, mostly about our childhoods ? he'd grown up on a corn farm in Iowa ? and a little about the future. It seemed that the Pittsburgh Penguins had been talking to both Andy and Peter about coming to play for them after college, and Peter was very excited about this.

Well after midnight and during an awkward pause in the conversation, where we both wondered if maybe we shouldn't try kissing or groping or something, Peter's eyes grew wide with fright and horror and he jumped off the picnic table, coming to stand between me and the pier that was behind me. I turned and screamed with terror. Two...creatures...had come out from underneath the pier and were running full-tilt for us. They looked like some hybrid of human and cat ? their teeth were huge fangs, their hands were tipped in lethal-looking claws and their bodies were covered in black fur. Peter told me to run to where Andy was and I'm afraid to admit, I did just that, leaving Peter to defend himself against the things.

He was no match for them. Despite a valiant and pitched fight, they set upon him and with one swing of one of their paws, gutted him. I glanced back over my shoulder only to see one of the things fall on Peter's body, ripping his guts from his body and eating them. I tripped over a piece of driftwood and fell to my knees, puking violently. This action probably saved my life. The other creature ran past me, its attention solely on Pippa and Andy.

Andy raced to his Jeep, leaving Pippa alone, and drew out a gun, firing wildly at the creature as it ran towards Pippa. But Andy was too late; the thing tackled her and soon, the only thing we could see was a black blur as it ripped her body open, devouring gobbets of flesh as Pippa screamed and screamed.

The creature that had eaten Peter soon came after me. I hauled myself to my feet and ran towards Andy. I felt sheer, white-hot agony as the thing's claws ripped open my back. The impact of its paws shoved me forward and I fell again, face down on the sand. The creature began snuffling about my legs, making little growling sounds and saying something that sounded like, ?Want? over and over. I turned awkwardly onto my back and kicked out as hard as I could. Thanks to the years of ballet, I was able to put quite a force behind that kick and managed to send the creature stumbling back a ways, giving me another chance to get to my feet and run.

Andy, for his part, had tried pulling the creature off of Pippa and had received a horrible slashing wound across his stomach. He fired the gun until it went empty into the body of the thing. The final shot was a point-blank head shot and the thing fell away from Pippa. The other man-cat that had attacked me fell on its companion, ripping it open and feasting on its flesh. Andy and I made it to his Jeep and he drove us to the nearest hospital, which luckily, was where my father worked.

We both received emergency surgery for our wounds, which were horribly painful but not life-threatening. The police and my parents arrived. Andy's were notified and would be flying in from Toronto in just a few hours. My mother went to stay in Andy's room, to be with him as he was questioned by the police. My father stayed with me and I answered the police's questions as best as I could, though by the end, they were convinced I had been high at the time of the attack and was even now under the influence of the morphine pain-killers. Andy's story matched mine, so of course, he had been high at the time as well. The police informed my parents that they'd be back in a few days, once the drugs had worn off, to take another statement. It was implied that our stories had better make sense then.

Our stories hadn't changed when the police came back to the hospital three days later. They shook their heads and then informed us that Pippa and Peter had been killed and the investigation was now being treated as a homicide. Did we understand what that meant? We had to give up our silly, ridiculous, impossible stories about man-cat creatures and tell the truth. Didn't we want our friends' killers caught?

We were questioned again and again over the next few weeks as the DA's office tried to build a case. At one point, there was even talk about charging us with obstruction. Luckily, Grampa put a stop to that and the police eventually backed down and stopped questioning us. The case was never solved and to this day, remains one of the most baffling cold cases in the state.

Andy and I returned to school and tried to return to our normal lives. We attended classes and saw each other every night. No one else, despite their trying, could understand what we'd gone through and we clung to each other for support and solace. We both felt guilty for what we perceived as abandoning our friends to their deaths. We had major cases of survivor's guilt. Soon, there was no denying that we were developing feelings for each other ? feelings that surpassed friendship. Instead of going home to Toronto for spring break, Andy came to stay at my parents' house and in March of 1999, we slept together. It was my first time and I remember crying when we were done, not because Andy had hurt me, but because the guilt I felt ? guilt over losing Pippa, guilt over sleeping with Andy, guilt over betraying Peter somehow.

Now when I look back on that night, I'm convinced that Pippa had given us her blessing. She had loved us both and I know now that she wouldn't begrudge us finding solace in each other and using the love Andy and I had developed for each other to help us get over the loss of both her and Peter. She was sitting on a cloud in Heaven, rolling her eyes at my tears and telling me to get over myself and enjoy being young, alive, and beautiful.

Riley ORourke

Date: 2010-02-08 14:40 EST
I'd like to say that next few years passed by uneventfully, without reason to remark upon them at all. But if that were the case, you wouldn't be reading this, would you? As I'm sure you can guess, I was Changed that night. I became a Lycanthrope, shifting into a big, hairy beast on the first full moon after the attack. It was a horrible, terrifying experience ? my entire body felt aflame as black fur poured out of my skin like water, my bones broke and my joints shattered as my Cat forced herself out of my body for the first time. I didn't become a hideous man-cat like those who attacked me. Instead, I shifted into a gorgeous, sleek black jaguar, as did Andy.

I don't remember much of what happened that night as Andy and I roamed the greater Boston area, hunting house cats and stray dogs through the December snow. Somehow, I retained enough humanity while in my Cat form to remember where my parents lived, because Andy and I woke up the next morning, naked and shivering with cold in my mother's potting shed, in the back garden of the house.

We had no idea what had happened to us. At first, we thought perhaps it had been a hallucination due to the lingering affects from the morphine we'd received in Hospital, but quickly dismissed that once we learned that morphine didn't stay in one's system long enough to explain our shared experience. Eventually, though, after much reading and research, we came to understand that we were Were-creatures, specifically werecats.

We were stronger now, and faster, too. Even in our human bodies, we could see and smell and hear things that a mundane human couldn't dream of. This played well into Andy's hockey skills and he was drafted into the NHL by the Penguins during his senior year of college. I still had one year left at BU, and after much talking, we agreed we'd try a long-distance relationship. Pittsburgh was only a day's drive from Boston and if I arranged my school schedule correctly, I could spend Fridays driving down there and be with Andy on week-ends when the team was playing at home. This arrangement worked out so well, that we agreed to keep it up while I was in law school at Boston College.

Our lycanthropy became a two-sided coin. On one side, was the improved senses, strength, and speed. On the other, was the way it threatened to rear its ugly head at the most inopportune moments, mostly anytime we became upset or angered by something. This often threatened to expose Andy while he was on the ice, in front of huge crowds of fans and televised to millions of others. He always fought with the Cat inside him, trying to keep it locked away and keep his Humanity in the driver's seat. I think he had a harder time of it than I did.

Because my mother was a Buddhist, I had been introduced to meditation at a very early age. Now, that early training in controlling my emotions help me control my Cat. Whenever I felt her trying to take over, I could easily shut her away once more in the cage I'd built for her in my mind. I wish now that I'd taught Andy how to do the same thing.

The next four years flew past. Andy was a rising star in the NHL and helped drag the Penguins out of the gutter they'd been in for so long. They were consistently in the finals for those four years and only twists of fate kept them from winning the Stanley Cup. School was going just as well for me. I made the Dean's List every semester and graduated from Boston University with a 3.9 GPA and was immediately accepted into law school at Boston College. I was sticking to the Plan and systematically taking the steps necessary to fulfill it.

Andy and I went to spend the Christmas holidays of 2003 at my parents' house. Little did I know, that Andy had spent the previous week-end in Boston, talking with my father about our future together. He'd asked my father for my hand in marriage, and my father had immediately and gladly agreed. Andy proposed to me on Christmas Eve. His proposal was heart-breakingly sweet and he reduced both my mother and I to tears with his words. For the first time since I was ten years old, I began to feel hopeful and excited about my future.

I spent the next six months lining up a job in Pittsburgh, finding an apartment for Andy and I there, and planning our June wedding. I'd been accepted as an assistant district attorney and my grandfather couldn't have been more proud of me. Life was beginning to fall into place and I really felt like I finally had a chance at true, life-long happiness.

Of course, things didn't go so smoothly. Every life, whether it's a strange and heart-break-filled one like mine or mundane and average like yours is perhaps, has its ups and downs. I tend to think that Fate or karma or just Murphy's law conspires against us to make every high have its equal low. And boy, was I in for a low.

Riley ORourke

Date: 2010-02-08 14:40 EST
I graduated from Boston College magna cum-laude in June of 2004. I packed up my belongings and threw them in the back of my 1968 Chevy Camaro SS, a present from my father for my sixteenth birthday. Then I began the next step of the Plan ? working as an ADA in Pittsburgh. My wedding was less than two weeks away and all of the details had been finalised. The only thing that remained for Andy and I to do was to pick where we wanted to go on our honeymoon. He wanted to go to the Caribbean and I wanted to go to the Greek Isles. He had mentioned an epic battle of Rock, Paper, Scissors to decide and I was looking forward to it.

I arrived at our new townhouse, located in the Mount Washington-area of Pittsburgh, early in the evening of the 12th of June. The lights were all off and something about the feel of the place had my back up. I parked in the street, rather than the drive, and cautiously crept to the door. I unlocked it, pushing the door open, and was met with the stench of blood and cordite. As much as the scent of blood excited me and wanted me to rush into the house, I forced it away, silently stalking through the rooms until at last, I came to our bedroom.

Andy was dead, lying stretched out on his back, a large-caliber pistol in his right hand, most of the top of his head missing.

The remainder of the night and the few next days are gone in a swirl of emotions ? overwhelming grief, confusion, anger. I remember the police showing up at the house, but I can't remember calling them. I remember finding Andy's note, but I don't remember reading it. My mother was suddenly beside me, her calming presence restoring some sort of cognizance to my foggy brain.

She called all of the vendors associated with the wedding and cancelled everything. In most cases, all of the money Andy and I had spent was returned, but that didn't matter to me. None of it mattered to me. Andy was gone; he'd chickened out of life. Flashes of the note came back to me, ?Riley, I'm sorry, but I just couldn't handle it any more. I was too scared of the Shift. What if it happened while I was on the ice? I'd out myself, I'd out you. I'd destroy our life. I can't do it any more.? I felt betrayed by his death, almost as if I were completely alone in the world now.

I left Pittsburgh a week after finding Andy's body. I couldn't live in the city any more. Everything reminded me of him. I quit my job with the DA's office, sold the house and refused to take any of the Penguins' money or offers of assistance. I withdrew from the world, going to ground in my childhood bedroom, surrounded by things that reminded me of a simpler, happier, more hopeful time.

Some time in late July, I received a phone call from the DA's office in Tucson, Arizona. They'd heard that I'd left Pittsburgh and wanted me to come work for them. It was a very tempting offer; the money was nearly half again what I'd have earned in Pittsburgh and it was practically on the other side of the country. There was no way anything in Arizona would remind me of Andy.

So, in August, I left Boston and drove cross-country to Tucson. The DA's office had bought me a house, which I'd found through internet searches. It sat in high on a hill, in one of the city's more exclusive neighbourhoods. My nearest neighbours were a quarter of a mile away...and I had a pool in my backyard.

I threw myself head-long into work, ignoring my co-workers attempts at drawing me out of my shell. I didn't want friends, I didn't want relationships, I just wanted to work. The Plan had been derailed, thrown completely off its tracks with Andy's death, and I just wanted to get back to some semblance of normalcy.

By Christmastime, I was actively involved with trying cases, something unheard of for a first year associate, even in a busy jurisdiction like Pima County. I won my first few cases, drawing the attention of my boss, who quickly took me under her wing, grooming me to become her replacement when she retired in a few years. I basked in the attention, eating it up like candy. Sure, the Plan had been derailed, but I'd managed to yank it back into a new-created track through hard work and sheer determination.

As my work reputation grew, my need for a social life became more pronounced. I hesitantly began accepting offers of after-work drinks, dinner dates with a group of people from the office, and even began going out to clubs on my own. That's how I discovered Shadows, and its owner/bar tender, Jared.

Riley ORourke

Date: 2010-02-08 14:41 EST
Imagine my surprise when I entered Shadows for the first time. The place was crawling with vampires. Yes, vampires! I was just as shocked as you no doubt are. I received hostile stares as I walked towards the bar from the front door, muttered threats and ?You don't belong here, Cat? accompanying my trek. Everything inside me was screaming for me to turn tail and run out of there before I became someone's dinner, but my natural curiosity had only been enhanced by the change, and I sat down, ordered a drink, and was introduced to the preternatural world of Tucson by Jared, a young vampire who owned the bar.

It seemed the city was a haven for vampires and Lycanthropes, thanks to its protector, a three-thousand year old vampire who was known by only one name, kinda like Cher or Sting. Onyx, as the vampire was called, had lived in Tucson continually for the past three hundred-fifty years, keeping an eye on the place and keeping the balance of power squarely in his lap. Vampires were allowed only in his city if they sought permission from him beforehand. Lycanthropes, too, were allowed to live in Tucson only if they stuck to Onyx's rules ? namely, no hunting of humans.

I sat in shock, ignoring the drink Jared had made me. In the nearly-six years of being a preternatural creature, not once had I had any inkling of the society created by others like me. There was a vast world lurking just beneath the flimsy veneer of Humanity ? a world with complex social structures and rules. A world that bore no resemblance to that of the human's world. The preternatural world was more like feudal-era England than twenty-first century America.

I learned that most Lycanthropes belonged to groups of their breed, which was governed by a single leader. Cats' groups were called Lepes, after the scientific name for a group of leopards. The Lepes' leader was known as a Tom or a Queen, depending upon the leader's gender. There was a Lepe in Tucson, called the Baboquivari Lepe, named for a near-by mountain sacred to a local Native American tribe. Jared offered to introduce me to some of the Lepe's members, but suggested that I already knew one of them ? my secretary, Elaine Worthington.

Something inside me balked at the notion of belonging to this group and I politely refused Jared's offer. He didn't bat an eye, explaining to me further that most Lycans, as we were known, weren't members of any group, especially the Cats who were known for our preference for solitude. He did suggest, however, that I not come back to Shadows after tonight. It was generally a ?vampires only? place and the only reason I was allowed to stay that night was because I was so painfully ignorant of the social order. The Lycan bar was called Haven and there was neutral place, called Mashath Tavern, which was owned by a former bounty hunter called Baron.

Thanking Jared for the wealth of information, I quietly left Shadows and went home, to phone Elaine. She was excited that I'd finally decided to ?come out of the closet?, as it were, and rushed over to my house to teach me what she knew of Cat Society. Over the next few months, Elaine became a surrogate mother, mentor, and best friend to me. She also introduced me to Deacon Lindley, a tall and luscious homicide detective on Tucson's police force.

Deacon wormed his way into my life ? and my bed ? not long after we first met. I think I was feeling lonely and needed something to hold onto. That's the only way I can rationalise my relationship with Deacon. It was six months of week-ends in bed after a rushed meal at my place or a beer at his. We didn't talk, we didn't go out to movies or dinner or any of the things normal couples do. Our relationship was based purely on sex ? mutually beneficial, acrobatic, hot, steamy, sweaty sex. It lasted until I discovered that he was enjoying the same sort of relationship with a waitress at Mashath.

Feeling betrayed again, I decided to take it out on the male sex in general. The next year or so had me engaging in a string of casual relationships with men whose faces and names blur together now. All the frustrations of my life before Tucson, combined with the Cat's constant need for danger and sensual experiences and the stress of my job, had me bed-hopping like cheap whore. I look back on that time now and cringe. Who was that person? Surely that couldn't have been me. I was raised better than that. And thank god for my Lycanthropy; without the instantaneous healing, I'd be a walking disease factory, riddled with syphilis, gonorrhea...or worse.

I knew that I was miserable. I knew that something had to break, something had to shift, or I'd slowly slide into a miasma of vice and become a cautionary tale for other Lycans. Eventually, I'd probably have eaten a silver bullet just like Andy did. Nothing in my life ? my friends, my family, my job ? felt like it had any value. Nothing meant anything. I was just going through the motions of caring. I was an empty shell, a spirit in the material world.

October of 2006 brought that much-needed change. Through a series of bizarre events, twists and turns that even to this day do not make sense to me, Onyx, Jared and I outed ourselves on national television. Over night, vampires, werewolves and other mythological creatures were undeniably real and humanity had no way of handling this. There were riots, murders, lynchings the globe over. Vampires were staked, beheaded or immolated by the dozens. Lycans were shot or stabbed with silver weapons, the one thing we cannot heal against. The world teetered on the brink of complete anarchy.

After one of Arizona's senators disclosed his own dual nature, a bill was pushed through Congress, affording preternatural creatures civil rights and ending the wholesale bloodshed. Suddenly, a whole new area of law opened up and I was seduced away from the DA's office, offered a junior partnership at the first ? and still the best ? preternatural defence firm in the country, now called Mendez, Josephs and O'Rourke.

Riley ORourke

Date: 2010-02-08 14:41 EST
I slipped comfortably into my new role as Champion of the preternaturals of Arizona. Two years passed in the blink of an eye, two years that had me winning case after case and enjoying a new-found celebrity. My social life was still a mess, but at least I was no longer bed-hopping. Indeed, I'd sworn off sex entirely, focusing that energy instead on my work and being a solid, up-standing citizen and good role model for the preternatural community.

Sometime during this two years, the leader of the Baboquivari Lepe was murdered, her body found mutilated and dismembered in the desert, thirty miles south of the city. The police ? headed by Deacon's new preternatural task force ? investigated the crime, but due to the closed-lipped nature of Lycan society, an arrest was never made. There were plenty of suspects, though, including the new Queen of the Lepe, a petty, small-time criminal called Michelle Goya. Remember this name; she'll come back to haunt me in a few years.

In addition to vampires and Lycanthropes, many other supposedly mythological creatures outed themselves. The world now had to deal with sorcerers, witches, necromancers, zombies, merpeople, nagas, faeries...everything you could possibly think of. All of these new citizens were now governed by human law, as well as the preternatural laws of their own particular flavour. Day after day, our firm received phone calls from werewolves who had been fired from their jobs just for being a werewolf, calls from witches who wanted to draw up contracts between them and people who hired them to create potions, spells, and hexes, and even a call from a troll who wanted to know if the police could really oust her from her home under a bridge.

It was pure chaos, really lucrative chaos. I found myself working 18-hour days, sleeping for maybe four or five hours a night, and trying sometimes as many as three cases a day. I represented vampires, werewolves, nagas, and even a sorcerer or two. In fact, the very last case I tried for Mendez, Josephs and O'Rourke was that of a sorcerer who'd allegedly sent a man's wife into an alternate dimension for not paying her bill.

Despite the overwhelming evidence of the abundant magic now present in the world, no one really believed that it was real. At least not the kind of magic the sorcerer claimed to wield. When the jury came back with a verdict of guilty of kidnapping, involuntary manslaughter, and fraud, my client blamed the verdict on me. A few muttered words under his breath, a few eldritch gestures and a body check any hockey player would be proud to perform, I found myself falling through a nexus, only to land smack dab in the Red Dragon Inn, face to face with a demon hunter called Rhys Bristol.

Riley ORourke

Date: 2010-02-08 14:42 EST
To say that our relationship was love at first sight would be an utter fabrication. More like hate, loathe, detest, abhor at first sight. I thought he was too cocky, too confident, too arrogant. He thought I was a cast-iron, cold-hearted bitch. Of course, it should come at no surprise to anyone that we fell utterly and completely in love with each other. When the demon that he'd been sent to Rhydin to kill was dead, we set about trying to figure out how to get back to our Earth. With a little assistance from a shadowy female friend of his, we soon wound up in my living room in Tucson.

Over the next few months, we found out that our meeting was not coincidence. We were destined to meet, our souls entwined from the beginning of time. We were warriors in the never-ending battle between Heaven and Hell, our one goal to stop the coming Apocalypse. Forming two-thirds of a holy trinity, our job was to keep the gates of Hell closed, forever trapping the army of demons that threatened the world.

Hell's own unholy trinity soon discovered our identities and chased us down, running us out of Tucson and every safe place we sought after that ? Flagstaff, Denver, and Iowa. Eventually we ended up in New York City. Going to ground in the magically-protected apartment of Rhys's best friend since high school, an incredibly talented fire-mage called John Takamatsu, we learned all we could about the battle between the angels and the demons. During this time, Rhys asked me to become his wife and we discovered that soon, we would be parents. Under the protection of hex bags that hid us from the Hellspawn, we were afforded a breather.

But the relative quiet provided to us by John's magic was shattered one morning when I received a phone call from Deacon. One of my closest friends, an Irish witch called Orla O'Fallon, was murdered and I'd been named her sole beneficiary and executor of her estate. I told the Boys that I'd have to fly home to take care of the funeral arrangements and to see to Orla's will. Rhys begged me not to go alone, but I felt that with the hex bag protecting me, I'd be safe.

Meanwhile, Deacon had received an anonymous tip that laid the murder of my co-worker and three clients squarely in Rhys's lap. Deacon soon issued an APB for Rhys, but assured me that he was only a ?person of interest? in the cases and not an actual suspect. He convinced me to talk Rhys into coming to Tucson to answer some questions. Rhys agreed, and since he hated flying, left New York City on the long drive cross-country to Arizona.

He went off the radar somewhere near Amarillo, Texas. Repeated calls to his cell phone were met with voice mail; none of his network of contacts throughout the country had heard or seen from him; even when John tried scrying for him, he was gone. It was as if he'd disappeared entirely off the face of the earth.

Weeks passed and I slowly came to accept that Hell had somehow gotten to Rhys and that our son would be born without a father. And then two unexpected things happened ? John died in a plane crash and Michelle Goya met with a high-ranking demon and became convinced that I was the cause of all her hardships.

John's plane crash was ruled caused by mechanical failure, but I knew that somehow, Hellspawn had had a hand in it somehow. The holy trinity was reduced to me, a pregnant Lycanthropic lawyer with no mind for battlefield tactics. I was scared, deep-down, bone scared.

And then the phone call from Michelle Goya came in. She said that if I paid her $10,000, she'd recant her story to Deacon and Rhys's name would be cleared. Onyx tried telling me that it was a trap ? hell, I knew it was a trap ? but I agreed to meet her just the same. The ancient vampire agreed to accompany me, to watch over me and stand guard.

If he hadn't been there, I'd have been dogmeat. Michelle had contracted with an out-of-state werewolf pack and they were lying in wait for me. While I had my hands full fighting Michelle and her lieutenant, Onyx single-handedly took out fifteen werewolves. I dispatched Michelle's lieutenant, but Michelle herself almost proved too much for me. With a vicious swipe of her claws, she sliced open my gut, and I was out of the fight. I came to a day and a half later, drugged out of my mind in a hospital in Tucson. Deacon was by my side and held tightly to my hand when he told me that the doctors had been unable to save the baby. The last thing I had of Rhys, my soul mate, was gone. It was almost as if Rhys himself had never existed. John was gone, too, and it seemed that the world would soon be gone, too, over-taken by an army of demons from the Abyss.

After being released from the hospital, I fell into a deep, dark depression. I didn't eat or shower or get out of bed for days. I didn't care about the coming Apocalypse. I didn't care about anything. I wanted to die; maybe I'd see Rhys and our baby in Heaven. I asked Deacon to find silver ammunition for me; thank god he refused and called Elaine. She took care of me, forcing food into me, drawing a bath for me and dumping me into it. She slowly drug me out of my own personal Hell, fighting tooth and nail for every inch of ground she claimed.

I tried to go back to work; I tried to care about life again, but the knowledge of the end of the world was too much for me. I begged God to give me a sign, tell me what to do, how to keep fighting the war, but there was nothing. Just silence. I became convinced that God didn't care what happened to his creations; he was an absentee landlord. He'd started the machine and then left after it began humming along.

I remembered Rhydin, and ow creatures like me were a dime a dozen and no one batted an eye at a werejaguar...or a dragon, for that matter. I sought out my old client, the sorcerer who had originally sent me into the nexus, and bribed him with twenty cartons of cigarettes to send me through again - this time with no possibility of returning.

And now, here I am, sitting in front of a laptop in a two-room loft in the West End of Rhydin. I wonder if I'll know when the Earth dies? I wonder if I'll care?

Riley ORourke

Date: 2010-02-12 02:15 EST
At first, I thought perhaps coming back to Rhydin had been a mistake. I was searching crowds for Rhys, scanning faces, memorising scents. I kept thinking, maybe like me, he'd had enough of the never-ending battle for Humanity. Maybe he'd come to a place where Humanity was in the minority, a place where the repercussions of Armageddon would never reach, a place where maybe at last, he could find peace.

After a week of aimless, unproductive searching, I finally came to the conclusion that Rhys was not in the city. Sure, there was a close call ? a black Mustang driven by someone who could have been Rhys's doppelg?nger ? but after sprinting through the streets following the car, I caught the driver's scent. No matter how much the man looked like Rhys, he didn't smell anything like him. Rhys was...God alone knew where. It was time to let go of him and to move on...somehow.

So, what does a newly-arrived, potential citizen of Rhydin do when she discovers that any shred of her former life is just a fabrication of a fevered mind? Well, if that person is me, she liquidates her accounts on Earth, finds a killer loft in a cool part of the city, and fills that killer loft with Earth-stuff ? an Alienware laptop, iPod Touch, Bose sound system, Afghani carpets, Turkish kilims, Mid-century furniture, and a CD collection to rival the best college radio station. Then she spends weeks and weeks alone in the killer loft, never venturing outside, never speaking to another soul, learning control again.

Rhydin takes a lot of getting used to. Not only is it peopled with creatures from Asimov, Lovecraft, Rice, and Shelley, there are two moons riding high in the sky. Two freaking moons. Since the Cat is tied intimately to the moon, she's been a real pain to live with. She wants control, she wants to roam the streets unfettered by her Human co-habitant. She wants freedom and that is the one thing she cannot have. Sure, she was a pain to live with on Earth, but she's grown exponentially since then.

My life, since I was five years old and learning ballet for the first time, has been about control. I worked to control my body, to force it into the unnatural positions deemed beautiful by ballerinas. Then I began school, and was forced to learn a different form of control ? social control. I had to learn to be civilised. I had to learn to control my instinct to beat the snot out of the little boys who pulled my hair and the little girls who kicked dirt at me. I had to learn to control the urge to blow off studying in favour of hanging out with my friends. I had to learn to control my memory and have near-perfect recall of facts and figures memorised weeks before a big test. Then I began my legal career and had to learn an entirely different sort of control ? I had to control my emotions when a witness was purposefully being obtuse on the stand, or when the opposing counsel was tearing apart my case with objection after objection, petty motions and ridiculous briefs.

Oh, god...and then there's the control I had to learn so I could keep the Cat in her cage until it was the appropriate time to let her loose. I couldn't risk shifting in the middle of a crowded shopping mall at Christmastime. I couldn't run the risk of changing into a beast in the courtroom and devouring the judge's face...no matter how satisfactory that might have been. And I certainly couldn't lose control enough that the Cat came out and did something that got us both killed.

So, I learned to stuff away emotions, shove them down into the basement of my subconscious and deal with them in my dreams. My dreams have, since I was ten years old, been nightmarish worlds of pain and suffering. Those dreams have only been amplified by the Cat's desires. She revels in the bloodshed, the pain, the anguish. She laps it up and rolls around in it, covering her body with the scent of suffering.

And these dreams have only gotten worse since coming to Rhydin.

Riley ORourke

Date: 2010-02-16 21:11 EST
But one night, about two months after arriving in Rhydin, the nature of my dreams changed. I dreamt of a luxuriously appointed bedroom, the air within made warm by a fire in a marble-facade fireplace, the floors covered with thick, lush carpeting. There was a four-poster bed and a woman's silhouette was framed behind sheer curtains. The only thing I could make out of her was a lush, curvaceous body and too-green eyes.

I was suddenly filled with intense longing and desire. The air swirling around my body suddenly became tangible, like the hands of a Phantom Lover. The hands slid over my body, touching me, rousing my desire, making me pant. I could feel the Cat wake up and stretch. She began pacing back and forth inside me, filling my insides with the hot rub of her fur, like being stroked head to toe with velvet. The more the hands touched me and explored my body, the more the Cat wanted freedom.

I clamped down hard, shoving the Cat back into her steel cage, gaining control again and forcing myself to wake up. The woman on the bed asked me a final question - ?Does it feel good?? - but I was awake before I could answer it. I sat up in bed, sweating and panting, the bedclothes pooled around my hips, damp from my exertions. I couldn't get the woman out of my head ? even after a run. I saw her eyes, those laser-like cat-green eyes, in every shadow I ran past that night. Finally, I ended up in the Red Dragon, seeking solace in a bottle or possibly a friend.

She was there. The woman from my dream, Aolani. I learned that night that she was a succubus, a rather powerful succubus who had sent out some sort of siren call into the dark, Rhydin winter night and my dreams that night had answered her call. Somehow, we were now inexplicably entwined. She could feel my emotions and manipulate them somehow. It made my hard-won control that much harder to keep in check. The Cat was completely enamoured of Aolani.

The next few days brought me into contact with Aolani constantly. Everywhere I was, she was as well. I couldn't escape her...even if I wanted. And I did want. Oh god, did I want. I wanted to throw her down on that rug of my dreams and shift into the Cat. I wanted to rub my face all over her body, covering her in my scent and staking a claim to that lush body. I wanted to rub her scent into my fur and carry her with me always. I wanted to lick that creamy skin, taste her. I wanted to bite into that slender white neck and lap up her blood, savour its salty sweetness.

I'd never been attracted to women before. I'd never looked at a girl and thought, ?Yeah, I'd hit that.? Not that I didn't appreciate exquisite feminine beauty, but it was more from an aesthetic point of view. But now... I couldn't stop thinking about the idea.

Maybe that's why I fought so hard against the pull. Maybe that's why I threw up the shield of my intellect and hid behind my defensive wall of snark and sarcasm. I was scared of Aolani, I was scared of the effects she had on my body, on the Cat. I was scared of losing control.

It's been three weeks since Aolani invaded my dreams...or since I invaded hers. In that time, I've nearly gotten into two fist-fights and have practically thrown myself at three different men. Thank whichever god or saint that was looking out for me that cooler heads prevailed in all five situations. This is not the time nor the place to go back to old habits. This is the time to establish iron-will. This is the time to show the Cat that she is not in control. I am. I decide our future ? not her, not Aolani, not the Phantom Lover. Me.

Riley ORourke

Date: 2010-02-17 14:41 EST
It didn't last, this concerted effort at control. Nothing ever does last, after all. Entropy sees to that. Things are constantly being pulled apart, usually from the inside out. It was seeing the Phantom Lover in the flesh that began my downward slide. He didn't say more than five words to me that night in the Red Dragon, but what he did say haunted me for the next week or so. He said, ?Giving in is strength. Denying yourself is weakness.?

What if he was right? What if my entire life, the carefully constructed walls, the shields, the seeming strength I drew from my iron-willed control was nothing more than an elaborate lie? The thought that I'd been wrong, practically since birth, unhinged me.

I went to ground in the loft, not bothering to leave my bed for days, except to seek out food. If I was wrong ? and it certainly appeared that I was ? I needed to figure out how to rebuild. Could the release that both Aolani and the Phantom offered be the key? There was but one way to figure that out. I had to embrace what had been offered to me in my dreams that night. I had to drop the pretense that kept me shut away, blocked off from living.

I slowly began to see that what the succubus offered was a way to truly live, not just simply exist like I had been since Andy died. His death had changed something inside me on a fundamental level. I had been waiting ? holding my breath ? until I could join him in the hereafter. With Deacon, and yes, even with Rhys, I hadn't been living. I'd been going through the motions, pretending to enjoy life, pretending to enjoy my career and being with my friends, pretending to enjoy the company of my lovers.

So I gave in, surrendered three times to Aolani and her Phantom. First, the night before Valentine's Day, when Aolani coaxed me out on the dance floor and gave that part of my life release. Secondly, two nights later, when again she coaxed me out of my safety zone and into a drinking game in the Inn. Thirdly, the night after the game, when the Phantom asked to see the Cat. I gave in completely to him that night, Shifting in the middle of the crowded commons room, with a Hunter present. The Cat didn't like that and I blame her panicked state for almost killing us in her race for safety. If she hadn't attacked that fisherman, whose wife had subsequently called the Watch, who went after us with a silver blade, scoring a jagged tear to our left side, we wouldn't currently be lying in a rented bed in the Inn with seventeen stitches along our ribs. No, we might be lying in the Phantom's bed, sated and sinfully sore.

Riley ORourke

Date: 2010-02-24 17:14 EST
One of my mother's favourite quotes from the Buddha is ?It is better to conquer yourself than to win a thousand battles. Then the victory is yours. It cannot be taken from you, not by angels or by demons, heaven or hell.? I used to think that I had conquered myself and that in my iron-willed control, I had won the battle with my desires, my anger, the Cat. But as I look back now, I realise that those things controlled me, not the other way around. Surrendering to Aolani and her Phantom taught me that. Fully embracing the things that I was scared of made me aware of how much that fear was dictating my behaviours and my reactions to people.

Of course, coming to this realisation and acting upon it are entirely different things.

After Shifting in the middle of the Inn, my life slowly spiraled out of control once more. I got into fights and got my ass handed to me not once, not twice, but three different times...by the same guy. But hey, I'd conquered my anger, hadn't I?

I spent five days in bed with some random pretty boy with big biceps, an amazing washboard stomach and piercing blue eyes. We were equipped with bushels of every drug I could get my hands on, and enough booze to start my own well-stocked liquor store. We f*cked, we drank, we got high night and day. But I had conquered my desires and I was using them, instead of the other way around, right?

My god. My life was like a reality show, only I didn't have Dr Drew available to help me clean up my act. I was miserable, lonely, scared, and horribly confused. I would have given my left arm at that point for a friend, for a sympathetic ear to pour out my heart. I had no one ? Pippa was long dead, John, too. And Rhys... I had to believe that he wasn't trapped in Hell, chained up and tortured constantly. I think if I had allowed myself to think any differently, I would have gladly taken a silver bullet to the brain.

What do you do when your life is sh*t? What do you do when even a conscious decision to change doesn't affect your behaviour? Well, if you're my mother's daughter, you go shopping and find a pretty dress and some killer shoes. You take a long, hot bath and shave everything but your eyebrows and your head. You cover your body with delicious scented lotions and perfume. You fix your make-up and your hair with expert precision. You put on that fabulous dress and those killer shoes and you go out and have a good time. You drink, you laugh, you flirt. You forget your troubles for a night. And then you go to bed, alone. Then you wake up the next morning, get some exercise, eat some really healthy, nutritious food, meditate for a long while, and start all over again. And you do this every day and night until you really are as happy as you pretend to be, until you really are that little f*cking ray of sunshine you're acting like.

So I did just that. I went shopping and bought an unlikely dress ? short and cotton-candy pink, with an asymmetrical cut and tiny, thin spaghetti straps. I bought beautiful shoes ? satin ballet slippers in the same shade of pink, with grosgrain ribbons that snaked up my legs to tie at mid-calf. I went home, lit some vanilla-scented candles and turned on Vivaldi's Four Seasons. I took a long, hot bath and emerged from the tub wrinkly but squeaky clean. I dug through my basket of lotions and found a jasmine and vanilla scented one and slathered it on. I pulled my hair back into a complicated braid and put on make-up. Then I got dressed in that ultra-feminine dress, put on those amazing shoes and headed to the Inn.

I should have stayed home and made popcorn and watched Say Anything. Between my past coming back to collect a debt, the man I was flirting with ignoring me in favour of the human preying mantis, and Harris's constant annoyance, my level of frustration mounted to Everest proportions. I stormed out of the Inn, screaming something about coming back the next night with my t*ts hanging out of my dress and my skirt slit up to my waist. It was the story of my god damned life ? I find a hottie and said hottie suddenly shows more interest in pocket lint than in me.

Maybe I was better suited for a monastic sort of life.