X-Calibre Trilogy: Long Hard Road Out of Hell

I received a parcel in the post that weekend from Elizabeth. As promised, she'd sent a sample of a facial masque; I examined the box and packaging for additional items but there were none – just the clay masque and a brief note. "Dearest Miriam," the note began, "I do hope my surprise finds you well and in good spirits. Please let me know right away what you think – I suspect this is just what you've been looking for. Regards, Elizabeth."

My brow bunched in thought as I pondered her choice of wording. The surprise wasn't the clay – she’d said she'd send some. I checked the box yet again but found nothing. Then an idea hit me; maybe there wasn't just the beauty aid in the jar. I unscrewed the lid to find out just as the doorbell rang.

"Erich!" I blinked rapidly as I took in his form. "What are you doing here?" I ushered him in, absently twisting the top back on the jar and dumping it unceremoniously back into the parcel box.

"I came to see if you'd like to go to the park with me," he smiled, presenting me with a bright bouquet of tulips. "I hope I'm not imposing upon you."

"Not at all," I lied. "I'm afraid I'm not prepared to go at the moment . . ."

"I'll wait while you get ready," he sank into the couch in the living room.

I offered Erich something to drink, which he declined, before shutting myself in my bedroom to change clothes. I'd taken the flowers in with me and they beamed across the room at me as I put on some stockings. I could take a good guess just what he had in mind for the park and thought about the not-so-chaste kiss we'd shared earlier in the week. But I couldn't complain, and I couldn't go back. I'd set my foot upon this path and now I had to walk it.

We traveled the footpaths of the park for a little while, chatting idly about the summer landscaping and the antics of the ducks who lived on the pond. My hand was around Erich's arm as it had been during that night in the camp and he seemed content with that. It wasn't until we sat at one of the benches that he changed that by sliding his arm around my waist.

"Isn't this just the perfect day?" he asked, face upturned to the summer sun.

"Yes, it is quite nice," I smiled as his fingers caressed my hip. "It's a lovely day to be outside."

"We've been invited to another luncheon," he said with a brief glance in my direction. "Felix Kohler is a friend of mine from Gymnasium, and his wife Margot heard such nice things about you," the caress became a squeeze, "that she insists upon meeting you."

"We mustn't disappoint them." I moved closer and smiled at him. Ugh, I was glad I couldn't see myself.

"No," he leaned in, "we mustn't . . ."

The kiss was brief but intense enough for Erich to flag down one of the shade-providing covered wagons that drove couples through the park for money. We made out within our rented privacy for as long as the ten-Mark note lasted, Erich's enthusiasm real and mine manufactured. He asked me to dinner and a show and I accepted, making sure things didn't go too far – had to leave something to the imagination, after all. Instead I apologized for having to return home to complete my domestic chores, a perfectly good reason to request that he take me home.

"I'll see you in the morning." Erich's disappointment was accentuated by the puppy-dog eyes he managed to level at me. Oh, why did he have to be so damned cute about that??

"See you then," I smiled and brushed his lips with mine before shutting the door between us. I waited silently, counting to dreizig-Bahnhoffstrasse [thirty-Bahnhoff Street] before stripping off my clothes, running the tap as hot as it would go without burning me, and scrubbing every inch of my skin to get his touch off of me. My hands shook as I lathered the washcloth yet again and I cursed myself for starting this. If this was how I handled it with clothes on, how in Heaven's name would I manage it when it came down to having to sleep with him? I felt sick just thinking about that.

I left the shower only after the hot tap produced merely lukewarm water, dried myself off, and put on the frumpiest nightshirt I owned out of spite. I walked through the apartment to the parcel I'd been interrupted from inspecting and re-opened it. I shrugged and spread the clay over my face, the contents enough for one application, and then smiled slowly as I saw the bottom of the container. I washed it out in the sink to reveal the entire message written in permanent pen overlaid by a thin layer of plastic. It was a day, time, and street address; nothing more. Today was the day of the week listed – Sunday – so I glanced at the clock in the bedroom. Whatever meeting this was, it would be held in a little under an hour from now. The address was across town from my flat; I'd have to hurry if I were going tonight.

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The address belonged to a dilapidated tavern in one of the worst neighborhoods in Berlin, one of the neighborhoods one drove through quickly with locked car doors to prevent being mugged at the stop lights. I shivered, bit my lower lip in my apprehension, and thought about turning back. This had to be the wrong place . . . A cat-call from across the street had me scurrying through the doors and into what I hoped was some kind of shelter from the perceived dangers outside.

The taproom was dark, hazy, and reeked of someone's cheap cigars. Towards the back of the establishment someone was singing to the crowd as he strummed a guitar. I looked around for any potential gatherings but found none. I backed up a step as I assessed my surroundings, sinking into a chair at the deserted table behind me.

"Hallo liebchen, kann ich Sie kaufen ein Getränk [Hey baby, can I buy you a drink]?" someone at a nearby table slurred as he leered at me.

I ignored him and took a deep breath to calm myself down. They wouldn't meet in an open area like this if this group was what I thought it might be. No, they'd be meeting in a hidden room in the back or something. But how would I find out? Just walk up to the barkeep and say, "Excuse me sir, but I'm here for the Resistance movement meeting. Am I early?"

"Ich spreche mit Ihnen [I’m talking to you]!" The drunk got louder and rose from his chair.

"Ich bin nicht interessiert [I’m not interested]," I replied smoothly, sounding more calm than I felt. I got up when I saw that he wasn't going to sit back down.

"Aber ich bin an Ihnen interessiert [But I’m interested in you]," he leered again and grabbed for me. My left arm went out instinctively to block him and I took a few steps back to keep some distance. He kept coming though and I noticed that while everyone in the bar was now watching us instead of the scheduled entertainment, no one was moving to intercede.

"Scheisse [Shit]," I hissed under my breath when he reached for me again. I blocked him once more and popped him in the face with my free hand, which I'd curled into a fist. "Ich sagte mich bin interessiert nicht [I said I’m not interested]," I repeated.

"Weibchen [Bitch]!" he spat and dove for me in an unsuccessful attempt to tackle me to the ground. I stepped out of the way, glad for the dim lighting when I put my leg out to trip him as he went past. As he sprawled on the ground a few of the men at the other tables rose from their chairs and hooted with amusement.

"Sie sind pathetisch [You’re pathetic]! Sie erhalten Schlag oben durch ein Mädchen [You’re getting beat up by a girl]!" one of the younger men shouted between bellows of laughter.

I watched him from my fighting stance as he got to his feet. A smile crossed his face as his eyes watched something over my right shoulder and I spun around to rabbit-punch the man who'd been sneaking up behind me. His nose cracked sickly beneath my knuckles.

"Verdammen Sie es [Damn it]!" He backed away, hands covering his broken nose, blood dripping from between his fingers.

"Werden Sie getan [Are you done]?" I turned back to the drunken man who'd by this time reached the door and had his hand on the handle. He left the bar as gracefully as he could manage under the circumstances and I swept my eyes over the bar, hands still up as though I could actually take on someone who wasn't tanked or surprised. "Wer wünscht sonst einiges [Who else wants some]?" I challenged, my voice surprisingly strong. No one stepped forward, much to my relief, so I sat back down at the table in one of the chairs that afforded me a view of the entire taproom.

"Dieses sichere war etwas [That sure was something]! Die meisten Massen fangen an, Sachen an mir zu werfen, um mich zu veranlassen zu singen zu stoppen [Most crowds start throwing things at me to get me to stop singing]!" The musician on the make-shift stage joked, earning a hearty round of jovial laughter from his audience. "Sollte ich von dem Stadium weggehen [Should I get off the stage]?" he asked, grinning because he already knew the answer. Numerous shouts convinced him to stay and play some more.

I finally laughed, blushing and grinning like an idiot. I felt like my life was in my hands for the first time in weeks; it was a feeling I'd missed sorely. I never did see any indication of a resistance group despite my constant observation of the other patrons in the bar; after a while I stayed because I was enjoying myself. I sipped at my beer; my tolerance was very low and at a third of a bottle my muscles were loosening up and I was beginning to relax a little. The musician wasn't bad at all, a real surprise for a dive like that. He played all the standard drinking songs of course, but he also played ballads that painted vivid pictures and sang slow, introspective songs about love and life that brought several people in the room to tears. His skill with the guitar was impressive, but it was his voice that captivated me. I'd never heard anything like it before – every note was perfect and carried effortlessly through the din and noises of the bar to reach my ears all the way across the room. I wouldn't have been surprised if he could convince anyone there to do anything he wanted just through the use of his voice.

A few hours later he retreated from the stage for the evening. He stayed for a few minutes to talk with some of the people in the taproom but then he headed into a room off the main hall to do whatever it is musicians do after a performance. I was just putting my money on the table and getting ready to leave when he re-emerged and made a bee-line for my table.

"That was quite a show-stopper tonight," he smiled and sat down across from me, uninvited. "What started it?"

"Nothing important." I felt uncomfortable with the question. I supposed he had a right to be curious but that didn't make me want to draw more attention to myself.

"You should be more careful," his voice was soft. "You were very lucky that no one called the police. It's dangerous for you to be out here at all, in fact."

"I appreciate the concern," I smiled at him, "but as you saw, I can take care of myself."

"Can you dodge a bullet?" he asked, all trace of a smile gone from his face. "How long can you hold your breath? Long enough to outlast a gassing?"

A shiver passed up my spine and I eyes him cautiously. "What are you getting at?"

"We are all our brother's keeper," he spoke in Hebrew, his voice barely above a whisper.

My eyes widened in understanding. "You're not marked . . ."

"No," he confirmed. "Had to pay a pretty penny to make that happen." He leaned back in his chair. "Was quite painful, too."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Why are you here at this time of night?" he dodged my question.

"I was supposed to meet someone here, but they stood me up," I kept my voice and eyes level.

"Oh?" He raised an eyebrow, his smile just bordering on a smirk. "Too bad. You should get going though – Heidelmann will be suspicious if you're yawning all day long at work."

"Excuse me?" I felt another chill go up my spine – how did he know I was attached to him? What exactly did he know about me??

"Don't look so surprised." He grinned, hazel eyes crinkled in amusement. "Surely you know a bard's job is to keep up on all the news and gossip, hmm?" He winked at me and rose from the table. "Be careful heading back, Ms. Shaham. I'd hate to hear bad things about you."

I watched him leave the tavern, his guitar case in his hand as he sauntered down the sidewalk whistling a happy tune. A taxi passed him in the street; he flagged it down and pointed to me, waving me on to the car. I got in and the bard joined me, giving the driver directions to the hotel in which he was staying. We didn't say much because of the presence of the driver, but I sure wanted to ask him how he'd heard of me. I didn't find out though; his stop was only about fifteen minutes away from our point of origin and he didn't give me any way to contact him later. A half hour more passed before I absently handed some Marks to the driver, my mind still occupied by the cryptic words the bard had given me earlier.

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Erich and I arrived at the Kohler residence as early as was acceptable according to the invitation and so were involved in much discussion with the other guests as they arrived and began to mingle. I recognized Erich's parents and said hello; Elizabeth smiled and waved at me from across the green lawn before coming over to introduce her escort; Frau Kohler introduced us to the Schmidts, a couple from Straussburg that they knew. I moved among these people with as much ease as I could summon, always waiting for the first encounter with someone who'd not been warned of my markings and anticipating what they might ask. Then I saw someone who made a lump come to my throat – the un-named guitarist from the bar I'd gone to the weekend before. If he saw me he gave no indication, but continued speaking intimately with Elizabeth in a way that suggested they knew each other very well. I saw her escort get a bit red in the cheeks and head for the punch bowl.

Other than the location, this gathering was much like the one at Frau Heidelmann's house had been. Good food, lots of pretty things to look at, and some of the most vapid conversation one would ever want to hear. I'd expected this though and was better prepared for it. I'd even gone the length of buying a handful of ladies magazines so I had more things to discuss with the other women present. I was quite thankful for this when I found I was the center of attention this time. I'd not realized it before we sat for the meal, but Frau Kohler's entire reason for holding the luncheon was to meet me. Unlike the previous gathering, though, she acknowledged my Jewishness and asked me questions about it. Nothing rude or derogatory was asked, but I had the distinct impression that one simply did not express a fascination for the customs and language of my people. I told her about the holidays and customs for the holidays; she asked me to say something in Hebrew. I wasn't the only one who noticed that most of the table was growing uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had turned; Erich's hand was squeezing my knee rather hard as I kept answering her questions. That sign was unmistakable: he wanted me to stop talking about my heritage. I smiled and excused myself to use the water closet. As I got up from the table Herr Kohler kept the subject at bay by insisting that when I returned, Herr Williams would regale us with his lyrical skills as he'd promised to do.

I took several deep breaths in the privacy of the small room, running the sink to provide some white noise. Talk about interpersonal politics . . . I knew it wasn't just idle curiosity. She'd wanted to highlight my background; she'd wanted to make things difficult for Erich as he tried to bring me out with him. I wasn't stupid; I knew it was illegal for a German and a Jew to have intimate relations. That law was in place to keep the wholesome German blood untainted by the stain of Hebrew DNA. And as it was, it was already a fine line between legal and illegal behavior between us.

"Miriam! I need to talk with you!"

I sighed and answered the knock at the door. Elizabeth stood there; I ushered her in while noting silently that I was beginning to detect a pattern.

"What in God's name were you thinking??" she hissed, her persona transformed into full-blown Ice Queen.

"What was I supposed to do, not answer her?" I gestured in frustration. "I'm not supposed to be rude--"

"No, not that. I'm talking about your little misadventure last weekend. Are you out of your mind??"

"I didn't just go and pick a fight. No one was coming to help me and I wasn't about to let him just have his way with me." I folded my arms across my chest and glared at her.

Elizabeth glared right back. "You stupid girl, use the brains the good Lord gave you! At least two people in that bar saw your numbers. You shouldn't have gone without telling someone! You shouldn't have gone alone!"

"Hey, you're the one who sent me the address and told me to tell you how the meeting went." I really wanted to raise my voice above a whisper. Oh, the temptation . . . "If you didn't want me there, why the Hell did you tell me to go?"

"I didn't. I told you to contact me first."

I rummaged in my purse and retrieved her note to thrust it under her nose. "It seems we have a miscommunication, then."

She snatched the letter away from me and re-read it, her ice beginning to melt. "I'm sorry, Miriam," she handed me back the note, which I shoved back into the little compartment. "I can see how you misread that. I wasn't clear enough."

I sighed and looked at the wallpaper pattern to my left.

"Ideally you would have been given a codeword to say to Bruce and things would have progressed from there. Unfortunately, you showed up without it or any other information and got put in a difficult spot. I'm very sorry, Miriam."

"So who saw my tattoos?" I sighed.

"Bruce, and Christopher," she jerked a thumb in the general direction of the party. "It's damn good they're on our side."

"Who's Bruce?"

"The one who wants to kill you for breaking his nose."

"Oh." I blinked, eyes wide. "What was he doing sneaking up on me, anyway?"

"He said his original intent was to drag you outside and find out what you were doing there."

"And now?"

"And now he's asking permission to add you to the official list of targets. He's one of our assassins, and his fuse is rather short."

"So I'm right and you are with the resistance movement."

"Was it that hard to figure out?" She smiled. "Chris told me it was quite a sight, though. Where did you learn to fight?"

"Someone back in the States taught me," I whispered, my heart aching at the thought of him. "He didn't want me to be helpless."

"Where is he now?"

"I don't know. Probably Canada by now. I hope so." My eyes got prickly and I took another deep breath. "It doesn't matter now."

"Well," Elizabeth smiled a bit sadly, "I'm heading back out there and you should do the same."

I stayed in the w.c. a moment more, saying a quick prayer for Nightcrawler before going back outside. Christopher, the bard, was set up so that he was the focus of attention for the chairs arranged in a half-circle around him. He was already playing and singing; I slipped quietly into my seat next to Erich. I recognized the tune as one from last week and smiled, forcing myself at first to enjoy his music. When he was finished with the song we clapped and he smiled widely.

"Glad you liked that one. It's one of my newer pieces, so I'm still working out the kinks." He played with the guitar strings, producing some discordant notes for emphasis. I smiled a bit wider. "As some of you may have heard about me, I travel around the Reich for the inspiration for my work. I was in the Americas a few years back and heard a tragic story about a man, a woman, and the judicial system. It's in English, and it's called City of Champions." He strummed the guitar again, head bowed over his work for a moment. The melody was simple and intimate, like an old friend catching you up on the past few years; I waited eagerly for the first lyrics.

"I came west from Halifax, chasing jobs in the sun. I wound up north of Calgary driving truck on the Yellow Head run. And I worked every day for six months, I really dug my heels in, then I woke up one morning and started living again."

I recognized the cities as Canadian; I tried to picture where they all were as he hummed with the melody.

"I hung out on The Avenue, friendly faces in every bar. Shooting pool and shooting the shit can take you pretty far. Then I saw her one night in The Raven. She made my heart stand still. To make that girl my baby, Lord, I swore I'd even kill. In the City of Champions, my life fell apart. In the City of Champions, I lost my heart."

I closed my eyes and began weaving a mental picture to go with the story.

"It only took a few months and we knew it'd be the rest of our lives. We pledged our love forever and got lost in each other's eyes. And then one night down at the Black Dog I got jumped from behind – left me on the bathroom floor more dead than alive. In the City of Champions, blood on my shoes. In the City of Champions, someone has to lose."

I frowned in sympathy with the poor guy and kept listening.

"I crawled back to my baby's arms and we headed for the back door. Lord, we almost made it out when he came back for some more. And I lashed out blind with my right fist and I caught him square in the jaw. His head hit a barstool and then he hit the floor. The City of Champions took another man. In the City of Champions I squeezed my baby's hand."

I bit my tongue; I had the distinct impression that he'd selected this song just for me. I listened to him play the guitar for a few moments, my hand resting in Erich's.

"The last time I saw her was from the back seat of a car. I traded in White Avenue for a harder set of bars. And I wish I was back at the Black Dog, pouring money into the till, ‘cause I can see my baby now and I know she's waiting there still. The City of Champions – I threw my life away. The City of Champions said someone had to pay. The City of Champions, where I face my fears. The City of Champions gave me twenty-five years."

The strumming of the guitar ended sadly. We all clapped with a bit less enthusiasm than before due to the mood he'd left hanging in the air. Chris never looked directly at me, but I still couldn't shake the feeling that his selection had been meant as both ribbing and warning.

Christopher continued playing for us and for a time he had my undivided attention. But a nagging feeling of unease grew inside me and it didn't take long to figure out why once I acknowledged it. What kind of assassin is so inexperienced he gets his nose broken in a bar fight by someone half his size? And how likely was it that it just slipped Elizabeth's mind to throw in a phrase like "call me immediately" when she penned her note? It was very odd . . .

His set finished, Herr Williams stood and bowed to us while we applauded. I rose to my feet and clapped, ignoring for a moment that my purse fell open from my lap onto the grass. Erich bent down to retrieve my purse then handed it to me; I snapped it shut between my hands, discreetly toeing the lipstick tube further into the grass so it wouldn't catch the sunlight easily. We had to return to work so we bid Herr and Frau Schmidt a pleasant goodbye despite their stiffness towards us. Erich was still engaged in conversation with Herr Kohler when I said goodbye to Elizabeth and her young man.

"I'm terribly sorry, but we must get going," Erich apologized to his friend as he came to collect me.

"It is I who should apologize." Herr Kohler cast a meaningful glance at his wife and the entertainer, who were talking as he put away his guitar. "I simply don't know what's gotten into Margot. It's quite unlike her." He turned to me. "I hope Margot didn't embarrass you, Miriam."

I smiled demurely and cast my eyes downward – it was the only safe answer. Erich smiled and took my arm, commenting about my perfect manners. I waited until after Herr Kohler walked us to the car, after Erich took a call on his mobile phone from the office, to touch up my make-up and notice my lipstick was missing. Erich silently shooed me away to find it, speaking rapidly into the phone.

"Forget something?" Herr Williams smiled at me as I returned to the back lawn.

"Oh – yes. I dropped my purse and lost some lipstick, I'm afraid." I knelt in the grass to look for it. As I'd hoped, he came over to help me.

"What does it look like?"

"It's a gold tube with silver bands in the middle." I parted blades of grass, glancing up to see the Kohlers clearing the forgotten dishes from the table. "I, um, I hope you'll tell Bruce how sorry I am next time you see him."

"Pardon?" He glanced up at me, several locks of his straight brown hair obscuring his eyes.

"Bruce, the assassin I hurt last week," I explained softly. "Please send my agiesgies."

"Who told you he's an assassin?" Herr Williams frowned as he searched the grass.

"Elizabeth," I kept my voice low. "She said he's quite upset."

"I'll bet he is." He looked at me again through his unruly hair. "Be very careful. She's not what she seems." His hand went to his left pocket. "You're a smart girl, Miriam. Keep yourself out of trouble, okay? Abe's a good man; I'd hate to break his heart next time I'm in Alberta."

He held out my lipstick and I closed my trembling hand over it, fingers brushing his palm. "How do you know my brother?" I whispered. "Is he well? What about Hannah?"

"They're okay. They're both fine. But you need to go. Don't trust her, okay?"

I nodded as I got to my feet, replacing the lipstick in my purse. "Thank you so much, Herr Williams," I spoke more loudly as Erich approached. "I never would have found it without your eagle eyes."

"Oh, no problem, ma'am." He nodded at us and smiled. "Have a good trip back into town!"

Erich nodded curtly and led me back to the car. "Find it?"

"Yes," I took out a tissue to clear off the dirt – he’d actually ground it into the soil before pocketing it. "It's a bit of a mess, though . . ."

"The whole thing was a mess," Erich glowered darkly. "Anything she says about you will make things very difficult."

"Is she influential?"

"Not really, but some of her friends are." He sighed.

"Tch, it'll all work out in the end." I turned to face him, my fingers dancing over his. "Try to forget about it for a while."

He sighed again and smiled, pulling me into a kiss that soon had him forgetting a lot of things.

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It was later that night when I looked up at the facade of Erich's house, still awed by the amount of space at his disposal. It had been a while since I'd been here; that he'd brought me home with him could only mean one thing. I swallowed nervously and followed him into the house where one of his servants took my coat and purse. I thanked him and by chance saw his shirt sleeves shift, revealing a blue star on his wrist. I wasn't sure what, if anything, to say; his only acknowledgement was to dare a glance at my own star, and the numbers, and wince before leaving the foyer. Unsettled even further, I assented to opening a bottle of wine with Erich as we waited for dinner. I strongly suspected this would be easier for me if I were inebriated.

"You look lovely tonight, Miriam," Erich smiled generously and handed me a goblet of red wine. "Absolutely lovely."

"Thank you," I smiled and sipped at the drink.

He opened a cabinet and touched a few buttons on the stereo equipment inside; I was shocked to hear Frank Sinatra crooning at us. "Would you like to dance?" Erich held out his hand to me and I accepted, allowing him to lead me over the carpets.

"Isn't it illegal to own any American war-time recordings, even music?" I asked quietly as I glided through the room with him.

"Yes, but rules are made to be broken, don't you think?" He kissed my cheek and ed ted the small of my back through my dress. "But you're right, anything Allied is outlawed. That's why my collection is so valuable – you should see my Swing selections."

"Aren't you worried about being found out?"

. . . And even though I know it's strictly taboo . . .

Erich waggled his eyebrows at the irony of the lyric and I giggled despite myself. "I like to take chances. It makes life so much more interesting, Miriam. It really does." He twirled me around and dipped me down. "It's like the apple in the Garden of Eden," he continued after bringing me back up. "Why was it so tempting? Precisely because it was forbidden."

"So I'm a piece of fruit?" I kept my tone light.

"Absolutely." Erich slid his arms around me so that I was folded next to him, his hands caressing my back. "Nature's candy." He buried his face in my curls. "Do you know why I like Jewish women, Miriam?"

"No," I whispered, wrapping my arms loosely around his neck.

"I like them because they're real women. Your race was built with curves and contours. You're inviting to the touch and pleasing to the eye." He kissed my neck intimately. "And you, Miriam, are like a perfect peach. You have a flawless skin," he took my ear lobe between his lips, tonguing it suggestively, "firm flesh," he continued as he massaged my lower back, "and I can't wait to taste your nectar."

I shivered at his words and, in an odd moment of detachment, considered how different my reaction would be if the same seduction were done by a different man. It wasn't uncommon for me to think about him late at night and recall in detail the delightful ways he'd touched me, ways that made me all the more hungry for him. I longed to lay with him again, to feel his fur brushing my flesh and his breath on my brow. I sometimes invoked the feel of him on top of me, of his tail moving against me, and imagined how it would feel to complete what had been started that afternoon. I'd never known that sort of touch before and I was not ashamed to admit that I wanted to know more of it, and I wanted to learn from him.

"Are you alright, my dear?" Erich's voice roused me from my reveries and I blinked, surprised to find myself still in his arms.

"Oh, I'm sorry . . . " I blinked a few times and stepped away, disappointment as always winning out over hope. "I got lost in thought. . ."

"What about?" He retrieved our goblets of wine from the low table to bring them to the dining room, studying me in a peculiar way.

"Nothing important," I sighed and tried to push the memories from my mind. "Nothing at all." I stood there uncomfortably for a long moment while he examined me and realized how a bug under a microscope must feel.

"How old are you?" he asked quietly.

"Nineteen," I answered nervously. Oh God, now what was going on?

He didn't say anything more, only made a thoughtful noise and gestured for me to follow him through the house. Dinner was strained until he stopped attempting to break through my shell with small talk and arrived at the heart of the matter – or at least, what he assumed was the heart of the matter. It was close enough either way.

"You don't need to be afraid of tonight," Erich's tone was gentle. "I promise, I won't hurt you. If you let me, I can make things very enjoyable for you."

I felt my cheeks grow hot and looked down at my nearly-untouched plate of food. I couldn't imagine anything he'd do could be as pleasant as what I'd hoped would be with Nightcrawler . . . but that was all in the past now. I'd have to find some way to survive this. And if I could give in and let it be a nice experience, why shouldn't I?

Was it even possible, though?

Much later, after another bottle of wine, after we'd slipped upstairs to his rooms, after he'd slowly undressed me and coaxed my body into willingness, I fulfilled my primary function as Erich's purchased companion. He was true to his word and handled me carefully; but I kept my skin from crawling only by pretending he was someone else.