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

Journal entry
12 Feb '10

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.

Journal entry
17 Feb '10

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.

Journal entry
9 Mar '10

Being overly dramatic and pissed off at the world - like, all the time - sure can take a lot out of a person...or a Lycanthrope. There comes a point when harbouring all that negative energy becomes poisonous and the body and the mind rebel. Luckily, thanks to my Cat, I don't get physically sick, but I do have horrible dreams, a sure sign of mental sickness. My dreams, as I've already said, have been awful since coming to Rhydin, but after the decision to surrender my control, they became worse. I started reliving Michelle's attack and Orla's death every night, in gruesome detail. I lost my baby night after night and stared down into the sightless eyes of my mentor.

And then Eamon showed up.

I have no idea how he found me. After Rhys has killed the previous Erlking, I had assumed that Maeve, the Unseelie Queen and the one who held my marker, would have given up and washed her hands of the situation. After all, the Seelie Queen once more held the Nuada's Sword and it couldn't be used against any of the Major Players. What did I have to offer Maeve now? I wasn't even on Earth anymore. I'd cut my ties with my family, my friends...my world. But again, I learned what assuming can do - it can make an a*s out of me.

Eamon stalked me, followed me night after night, harassed me in the Red Dragon, threatened people I'd just met and generally made my life hell. He was even more persistent than his predecessor. He broke me down, made me deep-down scared, took my insecurities and weaknesses and used them against me.

He was right, too. I had no friends here, no protectors, no safe haven. I was completely at his mercy and he could take me at any time, drag me through dimensions and throw me at the feet of his Queen. I knew what would happen then - torture. Millennia of torture. Maeve was well versed in the art of bringing a victim to the edge of dying over and over and over. She knew how to keep one's mind and body intact so she could draw out her pleasure and thousands of years after she began on you, she might consider letting you go...if she had something else to occupy her time.

I'd run when the first Erlking came after me, and what had that gotten me? My soul mate was presumably dead, my soul brother had been killed, my child had been killed, my mentor had been killed. Maybe it was time to take a stand, to plant my feet and tell the Faeries to f*ck off. Maybe it was time to make them work to take me...if they really wanted me.

So I bought a building and opened a dance and yoga studio. Putting down roots, inserting myself into the community, forcing people to sit up and take notice of me would thwart any plans Eamon might have. I built a safe haven - four stories of magically-protected peace, harmony and serenity. I contracted a Chinese wizard to create Foo Dog guardians to protect the only entrance to the building. I found a Shinto priest to lay magic wards in the rooftop garden, disguising them as Warrior, Priest and Poet rocks. And through the energy created by teaching others to dance and to meditate and to seek balance between the mind, body and spirit, I infused the entire building with protection.

The ball's in your court now, Eamon. Let's see if you can play.

Journal entry
31 Mar '10

On second thought, nix the idea of the windowless room. I've spent too much time in windowless rooms lately. Too much time locked away from the world, secreted in the Unseelie Queen's personal torture chamber, too much time alone, scared, anguished, hurting.

Seven years, five months, and eighteen days in a six-foot-by-six-foot-by-six-foot, stone-walled room. Seven years, five months, and eighteen days of seeing no one but Maeve and Eamon, of speaking to no one but Maeve and Eamon.

Half that time was spent bound to Maeve's torture table while she carved into my skin, my muscles, my bones with those f*cking silver blades of hers. She said the concept behind the Death of A Thousand Cuts had been stolen by the Chinese to use against criminal and traitors. She said she was fond of it because not only was it painful, it was humiliating as well.

The other half of that time was spent inside the stone-walled room. I counted the number of stones that made up one wall - 24. I counted the number of stones that made up my entire cell - 133. I had conversations with my parents, my grandparents, Pippa and Peter and Andy and Rhys. I made love to Rhys a thousand times in my mind, using memories of our short time together as an escape - the one place that Maeve could never find me.

I talked to Lani and Drax, too. I tried to send dreams to them, asking - no, begging them to help me, to rescue me, to pretend that I was more than a lump of meat to be fed off for them. I talked to John, too; I tried reminding him that he'd promised his loyalty, his help, his friendship. None of it - the talking, the crying, the begging, the pleading - ever did anything. I was still alone, with no hope of rescue or survival.

Finally, after seven years, five months, and eighteen days, the door to my cell swung open and stood open. No one came inside to drag me off to the torture table. No one came inside to hurl insults or silver throwing knives or food at me. In fact, the corridor beyond the door was strangely empty, lit by flaming torches and deathly quiet.

I stood up, wincing at the numbness in my limbs, which I knew would slowly be replaced by a burning pain from each of the thousand tiny cuts all over my body. I hobbled to the door of my cell and peeked out into the corridor. It was, indeed, empty. I took a tentative step out, ready to spring back into the cell behind me if it should prove to be a trap. It wasn't. I took another step, and another, slowly dragging myself down the corridor to a door I could see at the far end. There was something that looked like sunlight squeezing in through the cracks around the door.

I was soon standing in front of the door with my shredded palms pressed against it. My nostrils flared and I smelled the familiar and comforting scent of my loft in Rhy'Din. This had to be some cruel trick of Maeve's - she'd finally wormed her way inside my head and had created this escape just to f*ck with me. I pushed against the door and it opened, swinging silently on its hinge, and revealing my loft.

I took a step over the threshold and the wall at my back was suddenly no longer the stone corridor inside the Unseelie sithen. It was the wall of my loft. I took another step, finally coming to realise that I'd escaped Maeve somehow. I collapsed to the floor, not six feet into my loft, and wept uncontrollably until I had cried all the tears I could possibly have cried. And then I slept for two days straight, curled up on the floor of my loft, with the familiar scents of Rhy'Din wafting through my slumbering nose, bringing me comfort and a sense of security that wasn't false.

I was home. I was free. And I had no idea how it had happened.

Journal entry
5 April '10

Throughout time there have been bad guys. Selfish, greedy, grasping, amoral people who use, abuse, lie, manipulate and generally sh*t all over others. People who will stop at nothing to get what they want, when they want it, how they want it. These people always have helpers, the same sort of greedy, grasping boot-lickers who want to bask in the glory of someone smarter, more manipulative, more powerful than they.

It seems that everywhere these people pop up, there are others who witness their start and yet don't lift a finger to stop it. They're too afraid, too apathetic, too disconnected, too whatever. They figure it's someone else's problem so why should they be concerned? And they shout down anyone who would dare to speak up against the bad guys, telling them that it's not their fight, it's none of their business, stay out of it or they'll be killed.

But when does it end? When does the defense of the evil end? When are the good and the righteous amongst us allowed to stand up for the rest of us? When does it become our problem, our business, our fight?

I've only been in Rhy'Din for a short time, but I've seen enough evil to last for the rest of my life. Slavers, succubi, demons, murderers...they're allowed to walk the streets unmolested. They're allowed to carry out their business under the watchful eye of the general populace. The average citizen of Rhy'Din rubs shoulders with bad guys more times a day than with good. And it's allowed to continue unabated!

I've recently witnessed a battle of sorts between good and evil and predictably, the evil doers were allowed to walk away freely. When one man had the guts to stand up for what's right, for what's good, his own companions shouted him down, even going so far as to threaten him! Why? Have we really become so frightened that we no longer care about doing the right thing? Are we so lazy that we can't lift a finger in defense of the weak?

I know I'm not innocent. I know I've done some pretty horrible things in my life. I will not deny it. But I know the difference between right and wrong. And so do you. So Rhy'Din - grow some cojones and stand up for yourself.

Journal entry
16 April '10

Jesus wept, as Grannie O'Rourke would say. F*cking Marc Franco and his rag! Apparently people can't talk to each other without being intimately involved. Apparently the fact that I was trying to save a man's life can easily be misconstrued and twisted by this hack into looking more like I was trying to get into someone's pants.

Ugh. As if. Don't get me wrong, Broody or Dean or whatever his name is definitely is easy on the eyes, but not for nothing do I call him Broody. That attitude gets real old, real fast. And when you throw in the fact that he is Rhys's doppelganger and just looking at him, just being near him, just listening to him speak makes me want to stab myself in the chest with a dagger a la Juliet, well... let's just say that there is NO WAY IN HELL I would ever become anything more than just a casual acquaintance of his.

Especially not when I've got Daniel. Just the mere act of thinking about him makes me smile. I haven't felt this calm, this relaxed, around a man...ever. There's just something about him that screams cool. Maybe it's the fact that he is so perfectly at ease with his Leopard? Maybe it's the fact that he's just so perfectly at ease with everything? I don't know what it is specifically, but being near him is quickly becoming my favourite thing in the world.

I asked him to come home with me the other night, home to Boston, I mean. To meet my parents and maybe to Tucson to meet my friends. Mindy knows someone - who doesn't she know?- who she says can get us there safely and in one piece. But...will we come back? It's not something I've talked over with Daniel yet. His arrival here is accidental - mine, of course, was on purpose.

Would he want to stay on Earth? I'm fairly confident that I don't. I have a life here, a business, friends. Granted, I had all those things at home, but...things seem better here. Maybe it's because I'm not constantly looking over my shoulder and holding my breath until Hell's trio shows up, gunning for me. But Daniel didn't have those sorts of troubles back home. His memories of Earth are no doubt peaceful and happy.

I need to talk this over with him before we go. I want to be selfish and say that if he wants to stay on Earth, maybe we shouldn't go. But honestly, I cannot stand in his way. If he wants to stay behind when I return to Rhydin, I can only wish him happiness.

Journal entry
10 July '10

This city. This f*cking city. It gets under your skin, into your blood stream, into your brain and...changes things.

For more than half my life, I've upheld the law. I know the difference between good and evil, right and wrong. My first duty has always been to the law. I've believed in it and found it the easiest way to help my fellow man. My faith in the power of the law, while imperfect, has been absolute, almost holy, in fact. It has been the rallying point in my soul, the foundation block of my strength.

But this past year of staring out into the dark, horrible heart of this city has shown me that the law is both deaf and blind to some of the nastier elements - the things that move in the shadows of this city, perverting the purpose of the law to use it as a weapon against the people whom I've sworn to defend. My faith has taken a beating and I find myself considering stepping outside the boundaries of my authority.

This knowledge, this blow to my foundations, has cost me dearly. I may not shed tears over it - on the outside - but inside, where it counts most, I mourn the death of my faith in the law.

Journal entry
12 Aug '10

Judah,

From a very young age, I was taught to honour the Sugatagarbha, or Buddha nature, that exists within the mind of every sentient being. The Sugatagarbha is incorruptible, indestructible, eternally awakened and opens us up to the possibility of liberation from all suffering. The Buddha nature is deathless, changeless, just like Gautama Buddha himself...or more importantly, Kannon, the bodhisattva of compassion.

See, Kannon reached enlightenment. She got a free pass into Nirvana. But what did she do? She denied it, saying something to the effect of "I can't rest until all beings are free from suffering". She turned back, chose to stay until everything and everyone reaches enlightenment and is free from samsara.

You are the least likely individual to have a compassionate soul. After all, you hunted human beings for money not so long ago. But seeing you give that girl your last few coins so she would have a safe place to stay was thought-provoking and startling. Did you do that because I was there? Or did you do that because it's in your nature? You know what I believe, right? Other things, though, little observations I've made of you make me think I am wrong in my beliefs.

Your very presence in this city puts everyone in danger and for that, I hate you. But the fact that you cared for a stranger without expectation of repayment makes me respect you...which possibly, I hate more.

Are you Kannon, brought to Rhy'Din and continually reborn? No, you're not. Kannon has freed herself from samsara. Were you sent by her to remind us all about the importance of compassion? Yeah, I think that's possible. And frankly, a better teacher I could not have wished for.

Judah Bishop - Namaste.

Journal entry
29 Jan '11

Fine, Rhys. Be a pathetic, drunken assh*le. Make a complete fool of yourself in front of god and everyone. Show everyone exactly what a child you are.

I'm done with you and with this farce of a friendship. I'm done caring, I'm done cleaning up after you, I'm done making excuses for you. What has it gotten me? Absolutely nothing but heart-ache, frustration, and more than a few scars - both physical and emotional.

Don't you ever think before you act? Don't you ever follow a thought through its myriad consequences BEFORE you act impulsively? No, I realise now that you don't, that you never have, and that perhaps you are incapable of thought. You act just however you like, and damn the consequences, regardless of who gets hurt.

Well, now it's me who's hurt. Seeing you tonight, being a ridiculous attention whore, carrying on like that in front of a roomful of people gutted me...absolutely ripped my heart out and stomped it into the dust. Did you notice us leave the party early? No, I'm betting you didn't, because you had your nose so far up those girls' skirts, I'm surprised you didn't suffocate. Don't think for a moment that I don't know what you're doing. I'm telling you now, you can f*ck as many people as you want, it will not bother me in the way you want it to. It will not make me jealous. It will not make me magically wake up one morning and realise that I made a mistake in falling for David. It will not make me come running back to you. It will only make me sad and hurt me to see you lower yourself in such a disgusting way.

I cannot do this anymore. I cannot see you destroy your life because you're too...bullheaded...to grow up. But since I do want to live, I'll suck it up and deal with your debauched behaviour until this Sword of Damocles is gone. But when they're dead and you've got your human soul, I want you out of my life. Permanently.

Journal entry
9 Aug '12


Thirty-three years I've been alive. Nearly half of that as a Cat. I'm still not comfortable with it. I still resent Her presence in my brain, still hate the sh*t out of the fact that my very sanity is a constant battle. Why would anyone in their right mind want this struggle?

Those who are born to it, like Danny, don't understand what it's like. They've never know the simple, blind existence of a human being. Their senses have always been cranked up to eleven. They've never had to fight with the rabid, ruthless, carnivorous alien living in their brain. Never had to battle with the urge to rip someone apart instead of calmly, rationally discussing your differences. They've never had to be human. They've always known that they're superior.

David is wonderful. Danny is, too. But I need more friends who understand me, who understand just how f*cking hard it is sometimes to walk the line, to hold on so tightly to that precious equilibrium.

Mesteno once told me I needed to let go, let loose, stop being wound up so tightly. Was he right? Should I finally accept that I stopped being a human being fourteen years ago? Should I stop pretending that I'm anything other than a monster?

I look at my friends, my human friends, and try to remember what it was like to trust someone at their word, instead of taking in their scent to evaluate it for the stench of deception. What was it like not to be able to see clearly in near-complete darkness? I can't remember working hard to dance, to appear effortlessly graceful on stage when really, my muscles were vibrating with exhaustion and the only thing between the sheen of sweat that covered my body and the footlights was a thick layer of grease paint.

Sometimes at night, I dream about it. Dream about letting go, of giving into Her. Turning over the wheel and riding shotgun for a while. It would be so much easier and probably a hell of a lot more fun. What would I gain? What would I lose?

Happy birthday to me.

Journal Entry
18 Aug 2012


Why can't I just be happy that she's found someone that she's willing to fight with me for? Why can't I just accept that she's really into this guy? I think it's because I've seen him in action and smelled something just...fundamentally wrong about him. But how do I explain that to someone without my nose or my experiences? There's a taint of evil around him. But how do I tell her that without sounding like a f*cking psychopath?

I guess I can't. I guess I stay away and wish her well from a distance. I guess I just watch and be prepared to swoop in and help her pick up the pieces when--yes, when, not if--it all goes pear shaped. I'm a sh*tty friend for doing it this way, and probably a great big coward, too, but I can't fight with her anymore and I can't be around to see them together, either.

Journal Entry
8 Sept 2012

I heard thunder last night. It woke me from a sound sleep. It wasn't the loud, rolling thunder, either, the kind that always reminds me of Her purring when She's particularly happy about something. The friendly thunder, you know?

No, this thunder was a single crack, loud enough to shake the windows in their frames. The kind of thunder that makes you look up to make sure the sky hadn't split in half.

My heart was pounding, adrenaline coursing through my veins, and when I lifted my hands to get my hair out of my face, I felt tears on my cheeks.

That storm that's been brewing?

It's finally here...