The Liminality Series Bundle Books 1-3

By M.R. Graham

It begins with the breaking of a gentle monster,
with the capture of girl who dwells in dreams,
with the hidden strength of a young wizard,
with the bitter rage of a wounded vampire.

It ends in victory… or a world drowning in Shadows, overrun with Death.

Catch up on Books 1-3 of the Liminality Series in preparation for the release of Book 4 in 2018.

THE MEDIUM: 
Lenny is a defective vampire. Shy, insecure, and literally unable to kill, he tries very hard to avoid notice until the night he is kidnapped by a creature far worse, a vicious abuser determined to turn him into what a vampire ought to be. Worse, Lenny is also a medium, a creature born for the sole purpose of aiding the dead, and Sebastian is definitely a dead thing in need of help. Trapped by Sebastian's lethal mind control and by the compulsion of his own dual nature, Lenny's only hope is Kim, a practical young wizard tasked with hunting Sebastian down, but her ancient and powerful family is not nearly as accepting as she. Perhaps she can save Lenny from his captor and from the spark of violence growing inside him…

THE MORA:
Jadwiga Dąbrowska is a mora, a creature whose spirit feeds on the dreams of others. Strange though her life has always been, Jadwiga could never have expected to wake from her own murder in a bizarre mirror world, chained body and soul to a terrifyingly powerful being that calls itself Twarz Cienia, the Shadow's Face. Now, with no choice but to obey the Twarz, she must contend with forces outside her understanding, fighting in a war that will never end.
And still she can't be sure that her freedom was a fair price for her life.
Kim Reed has spent six years searching for a lost friend, but her search is interrupted by the threat of war. The Votadini, an ancient Circle of Scottish wizards, are making yet another bid for dominance, and this time, they may be backed by black magic. With her own magic weak and atrophied, Kim isn't sure how useful she would be in a fight, and her years of research on the undead have made her an object of suspicion wherever she goes. She is not ready for wizard politics, for war, or for dealing with spies that can manipulate her dreams.
All she wants is her friend back, but there are Shadows standing in her way.

THE MAGE:
In the midst of a building magical war, Kim Reed thought she had found a bit of peace, a silver lining. Lenny, the friend she lost years ago, is safe, the monster who kidnapped him is dead, and this war cannot last long with so much raw power ranged against the enemy.
But Lenny is not the man he was. There is something dark in him, something growing stronger by the day. Something that has caught the attention of the Shadows that live between the worlds.
She knows she cannot fight her many battles alone, but allies are few and far between. Jadwiga, the mora, remains secretive and aloof, and Kim's old friend Daniel has a bloodier past than she had ever dreamed.
And it is possible, just possible, that worse is coming than war. As Shadows close in, and the Veil between worlds grows tangled and thick, Death has gone missing, and soon, the dead will crowd the living from the face of the earth.
[Cliffhanger warning.]

• Language: English
• Publisher: qui est in literis
• Release date: Jun 9, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386135029

Book preview

THE LIMINALITY SERIES BOOKS 1-3

A DARK PARANORMAL TALE

M.R. GRAHAM

THE MEDIUM

Copyright © 2013 M.R. Graham

THE MORA

Copyright © 2015 M.R. Graham

THE MAGE

Copyright © 2016 M.R. Graham

Cover Design by Story Wrappers – storywrappers.com

This is a work of fiction. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved.

This book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, in any form, without written permission from the author.

Also by M.R. Graham

The Liminality Series

The Medium

The Mora

The Mage

The Martyr (coming soon)

In the Shadow of the Mountains

The Wailing

Stand-Alone Novels

The Siren

Poetry

Versos, or The Things a Woman Learns on the Banks of the Great River:

A Poetic Ethnography of el Valle del Río Grande

Papalotes: Songs of Texas

The Adventures of Morrigan Holmes

No Cage for a Crow

TABLE OF CONTENTS

THE MEDIUM

Liminality

The End

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

The End

Epilogue

––––––––

THE MORA

The End

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

The End

––––––––

THE MAGE

The End

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

The End

THE MEDIUM

The Liminality Series #1

by

M.R. Graham

liminality:

Liminality: (From the Latin līmen, a threshold) The intermediate point of transition between two states or classes. An object or individual in the liminal state may be considered to belong to both classes simultaneously, or to neither. A prolonged liminal state may result in disorientation, alienation, and later inability to integrate into another state or class.

Betweenness.

the end

Sometimes, he still dreams about the girl.

He is always blind in the dreams, must be blind, because there is no way it could be too dark for him to see. He is blind, but he can hear everything, feel everything, and reality dissolves.

She gasps when his hand closes over her mouth, and he can feel that tiny suction, then the wriggling and flopping as he holds her tightly from behind, muffling her screams with his flesh. He whispers desperate consolation in her ear until the feeble spell of his voice finally takes hold, and she relaxes into his arms, shivering with the sobs that cannot quite escape.

He tapes her arms and legs, wraps her in his jacket, and sits with her through the night. Her breath freezes on the air, and he can almost hear the chime of those ice-crystal clouds. His skin freezes and cracks. He would bleed, but he has no blood left, and the cold makes him tired, as if he were a reptile. He could almost sleep.

Sebastian is in the dream, too. He plucks the telephone away and lashes out with a burning fist. Broken teeth, jaw, ribs. One punch, one kick, no more.

Too late, he says. I’m already back. Running to a teenager for help? Really, Hugo? You’re such a goddamn baby.

Sebastian’s hands are hot, and they can be soothing when they want to be. They stroke away the bruises, and he layers his voice with Power, whispering away the pain.

I’m Leonard. I’m n-not Hugo, I’m Leonard. Leonard...

Shhh, don’t worry about it. You want the kid, that’s okay. You can have her. My gift. His hot hands move south, gentle still. Don’t cry, okay? I hate you when you cry.

She is waiting when they get there.

She gasps when his hand closes over her mouth, and he can feel that tiny suction, then the wriggling and flopping as he holds her tightly from behind, muffling her screams with his flesh. His mouth is swollen and full of tears, and his voice is so much weaker than Sebastian’s. He cannot take away her fear, only make her stop twisting to give his poor ribs a rest.

He sits with her through the night and listens to her hurting, but he can no longer manage to care. Sebastian is in his head, squeezing his heart so tight he can barely feel, stroking his mind into silence. His throat burns with thirst. His veins ache, empty and hollow and screaming with lust, but he can’t care. He leaves without speaking to her, even though she begs, even though her faith is shattering into sunbursts on the dusty floor.

He sits in the car and presses himself close against the blasting heater. He is blind, but he seems to see deep brown eyes, slightly tilted, smiling, fringed with dark, sooty lashes. He could drown in those eyes, has drowned in them before, just like so many others. Bleak pools full of the drowned, full of bodies. The back of his mind is full of struggling, the clinking of chains. Sebastian is bleeding her. The blood is the life, and so much more. Teeth penetrate. Essence is shared. Eventually, she stops fighting.

Tomorrow, he thinks. I’ll do it tomorrow. He won’t bleed her if she’s mine.

But he doesn’t really care.

When he pushes her down the stairs, she has Kate’s voice. Lyonya, she cries, but that never happened, and Kate was a thousand years ago, and she hurt him more than he could ever have hurt her.

When he runs, the girl is probably dead. Sebastian’s voice is gone, and his skull echoes emptily.

Sometimes, he still dreams about the girl, but when he wakes, the world is white, and his bones are ice, and his name has bled away with the last of his strength. They call it permafrost for a reason, you know, and his hands are bound up in dirt that does not sing and cannot heal. The ghosts here are pale and ancient. They speak in tongues he does not know.

And freedom is bitter.

one

Lenny never could decide whether he and Mara were a thing. Sometimes, he thought they were, and sometimes they definitely weren't, and sometimes it was just completely impossible to say what they were. He knew he loved her. He thought she might have loved him back, but he was never sure whether either of them was ever in love. Maybe.

He did know that she was exactly the right shape. She fit perfectly under his arm, up against his side, like they were puzzle pieces and that was where she was supposed to go. They matched.

It was two in the morning, or maybe a little later. Lenny lounged on one end of the couch, and Mara was where she belonged, there beside him. His mouth still tasted like cheap wine, the kind that leaves a sweater on your tongue. It had been hours since the real television had stopped and the endless commercials had started. The light from the screen caught on the two glasses, two bottles on the table. It lit up Mara's face. She had fallen asleep.

He let her stay there. Neither of them had anywhere to be in the morning. A night on the couch wouldn't hurt her any. 

Saturday came too early. He could still taste the wine, and it was even worse the next day. Mara had slid down from his chest to his thigh. He was okay with that. She was warm.

He slid her off as carefully as he could, replacing himself with a rolled-up blanket, and shuffled off to make a pot of coffee. After a couple of cups, he could start to function.

Mara stumbled in after him when the coffee maker started to growl. Her hair stuck up on one side, and a red fan-shape of creases crossed her cheek. Her eyes were puffy.

Morning? she mumbled.

Yeah. Sorry to say, it is.

No school.

Nope. 'S Saturday.

Good. That's good.

C-considering it's almost t-ten, yeah.

She went around him and pulled down two mugs from the cabinet, set them on the counter and grabbed milk from the refrigerator. The calendar stopped her.

Your conference is next weekend?

Yeah.

You packed?

Nah. G-gotta laundry first.

The milk carton clunked down on the counter, and one of Mara's arms went around Lenny’s waist. Her chin fit perfectly into the crook of his neck and shoulder. Bring me a tee shirt. 

M'kay.

Just then, he was pretty sure they were a thing.

The week went past like a greased cat. He re-administered a test and launched various objects across the football field with a catapult his students built. He didn’t get a moment’s peace until Thursday afternoon.

He and Mara got home around five thirty. They were both dead beat, but teachers never have the option of kicking back. He had to go through one more time and make sure he had everything he was going to need. Mara disappeared into her half of the duplex for about an hour and then wandered back with a bowl of spaghetti. She symbolically offered him some, and as always, he declined.

You know, she said, I heard some of the kids talking. At least one of them is pretty sure the reason you never eat is because you’re actually a robot, and you go home and plug in at night to recharge.

She snickered. Lenny didn’t. He was too busy looking for one more pair of socks.

Yep. I c-can shoot lasers out of my eyes, t-too.

She laughed harder.

Got everything? she asked, wiping a red smear of sauce off the tip of her nose.

Working on that.

Clothes for three days?

He nodded.

Aspirin, notebook, pens...

That would go in his backpack, not his suitcase. He nodded and pointed to the pile in the corner.

Reading material for the bus? Or knitting stuff?

He wasn’t about to take knitting stuff on the bus. The last thing he needed was to make friends with yet another elderly lady or accidentally poke someone in the arm with a needle. It was tempting to go off to Austin and come back with one more sweater for Mara, but the logistics were just difficult. Knitting stuff is bulky.

He held up a small stack of battered paperbacks he had snagged from the library’s too-old-to-keep box.

Bunny?

She was teasing, and he knew it, but he still couldn’t keep from shifting uncomfortably. The bunny in question was an antique toy, made of white wool, with a faded letter K stitched onto its chest in once-red silk. It sat on his bed during the day and sometimes at night, too. He didn’t sleep with a stuffed animal, he always insisted; he just liked the smell of it.

You c-can take care of the bunny while I’m gone.

Looks like you’re set, then.

Well... I hope so.

She snorted and pressed her cheek against his back, being careful not to get spaghetti sauce on him.

It’s weird, she said, thinking about you being gone for a weekend. Who am I gonna pester?

You c-could go across the street and mess with G-gail.

Ew. Her cats would eat me.

It was true. Most animals disliked Lenny, but Gail’s cats were abnormally aggressive. It had been a couple of weeks since that big black one had found its way into their house, but it would come back someday. It always did. Then it would hook itself into his leg and stay there until he could pry it off. Even Mara didn’t like Gail’s cats, and Mara was a cat person.

He zipped up his suitcase and set it by the door, shoved his notebooks and novels into his backpack, zipped that, and flopped down onto the edge of the bed. He did not look forward to the trip in the morning.

They got up early on Friday. At that time of year, they were always up before dawn, but he had somewhere to be, and Mara was his ride. He struggled into khakis, a sweater, and a windbreaker, and tossed his suitcase and backpack into the rear seat of Mara’s Datsun. He waited while she slapped on some makeup and shoved as much of her hair as she was able into a straining rubber band.

He handed her coffee in a vacuum mug and climbed into the car, sitting quietly while she peeled out of the driveway. He could handle early mornings, but until she had finished her first cup, Mara was only one bad joke away from homicide. She chugged most of it at the first light they hit.

Abilene was not a big place, and the streets were dead empty before daylight. There were sure to be some cops on their rounds, some small business owners unlocking things, some local ranchers driving out from town, but the only car they passed was a gas tanker with a disgruntled driver. He was making about the same face as Mara.

There was only one other car in the parking lot at the bus station. It was orange, some kind of sports car, and it was sprawled across three parking spaces. Mara screeched into a space on the far end and had jumped out of the car almost before the keys were out of the ignition. Lenny pulled himself out more slowly while she fished around in the back for his suitcase and backpack.

I am so sleeping through lunch today, she growled. Ugh. And study hall. Do you think they’ll rat on me?

He shrugged and slung his backpack over his shoulder. Mara’s breath steamed in the freezing air. His did not, and he prayed she did not notice. But then, she never had before. He was already losing feeling in his fingers.

She smiled. Have a good trip, Len.

He shifted his backpack and picked up his suitcase.

And Mara bowled him into the side of the Datsun, pressed her hips against his, grabbed him by the collar of his jacket, and kissed him hard. Compared to the air, her lips were boiling hot. It’s strange what people remember from moments like that. Lenny remembered that she stepped on his foot and that she was the only person he had ever known who put honey in her coffee.

When she stepped back, she looked almost confused.

Hm, she said. I’m going to have to keep thinking about that.

Then she slammed back into the driver’s seat, started up, and drove away, leaving him choking on exhaust and unexpected signals.

He didn’t remember much about waiting for the bus. He supposed he must have sat there for the hour or so before it came. He must have gotten on, picked a seat, stowed his stuff. Mostly, he remembered thinking.

He had thought about Mara before, about being with her. He had only been in love once, and he knew whatever he felt for Mara did not feel like that, but it had been too many years since Kate, and he did wonder sometimes whether it was time to just let her go. But mourning had become a part of him, like a bad habit, and though the agony was past, the habit stuck around. He knew he couldn’t fall in love again if he was still in love with a ghost.

He cycled through the old standbys.

They were friends. He didn’t want to risk that.

They were colleagues. He didn’t want to risk that, either.

He loved her, and he was pretty sure she loved him back, but there was no way for him to say whether he could ever be in love with her. Kate was still in the way.

Mara was beautiful. He had always thought so, but he had never been and would never be attracted to her. He couldn’t be, not in that way. It wasn’t in his nature.

And that brought him to the last point.

No one had ever stared at him in horror and breathlessly demanded to know what he was. It never happened like that. He hated having that conversation, though, so he usually made sure it took place over a cup of coffee and tried not to stutter too badly.

Even though I am one of the weeniest guys you’ll ever meet, some of my quirks aren’t actually the result of neuroses, like everyone assumes. It’s not that I don’t eat in public because I can’t stand being watched; I actually don’t eat at all. I guess I could, physically, but it makes me sick. Not going near the river? Yeah, I don’t really like running water, but even if I did, I wouldn’t be able to cross it. Playing catch-and-release with the spiders? You would, too, if you could feel them die.

He muttered it under his breath and grimaced. Words were not his forte.

The full answer to that question had two parts, and while neither was particularly complicated, the two came together to make something tricky.

Most people were usually looking for the fact that he was dead. More specifically, undead. That had never really bothered him, but it bothered other people, sometimes a lot, so most of the time he let people assume he was completely spastic. Mara didn’t mind a spastic. That was one of the reasons he loved her.

The second part, the tricky part, was that he was a medium. He saw ghosts, but it was more than that. The clue was in the word itself. A medium was something – someone – in the middle, something between. Between two worlds, between alive and dead. Even when he was alive, part of him had been dead, and once his body died, he was – paradoxically – still alive. It made sense to him, but it was impossible to articulate, so he usually explained what he could do and left it at that.  His superpowers, he called it, though only with irony. When they needed it, he could help ghosts to cross over. He had to.

It was tricky because he also felt death. There were varying degrees of awfulness, and he felt terrible for saying that some deaths hurt him less than others, but it was true. He found it easiest to handle little things, like when someone stepped on an ant. Murder hurt as though he were the one dying. A medium cannot kill, so a medium who ended up as a vampire was pretty much just a joke. He had never wanted to kill, but sometimes he wished he could have been dangerous. Danger was impressive; Lenny was not.

Mara wasn’t the kind to freak out, though. He knew her well enough that he wasn’t worried about frightening her. More likely, she would call him a liar. That could potentially be either better or worse.

They kicked him off the bus in Austin just in time to prevent him from having a nervous attack. He forced his brain out of high gear long enough to call a cab and check in at the hotel. There was just enough time for him to dump his stuff on the bed, change clothes, and run to the ballroom for the first-night mixer.

There are more male science teachers than other kinds of teachers, but the hall was still a swimming pool of estrogen. Lenny huddled in the corner with the shyer members of his sex and thought about Mara.

Teachers’ conferences are draining. He didn’t like sleeping in a strange place, trying to make small talk with a lot of people he didn’t know, with every third one of them offering him unwanted advice to help with his stutter. He had done speech therapy. Tea didn’t help. Talking with a mouthful of marbles didn’t help. Repeating lines from movies didn’t help. He didn’t like listening to them complain about work and about their colleagues. Teachers are wonderful people, on the whole, but put a bunch of them in a room together, and they turn into a bunch of chickens, squawking and pecking each other to death. He hated listening to them talk about progress, and how the only thing anyone can learn from the way things have always been done is how not to do them.

He sat quietly and pretended to pay attention while he played out scenes with Mara in his head. The words had to be just right, and he would need to know them beforehand, or else he would ramble, and she would never understand.

Suddenly, he realized that the applause was just a little bit more heartfelt than it had been, and the speakers overhead were blasting Texas, Our Texas, and everyone stood, and then it was over. A few people hurried to find friends they had made. Some exchanged business cards or telephone numbers. Most just made for the doors. Lenny sat still waited for the tide to pass him by, then rode out on the back end of the wave. It deposited him at the hotel bar, which seemed like as good a destination as any. Such a long weekend deserved a beer. He already knew that he would be sleeping for most of the bus ride back home, so a tiny hangover wouldn’t hurt anything.

He unpinned his name tag and stuck it in his pocket, shuffled into the smoky room, and went to get himself a drink.

two

The man seemed nice at first. At least, comparatively. Lenny was aware of him as soon as he walked in, pulled by a strange attraction that left him both disoriented and disconcerted. There was really only one likely reason for someone like that to be in a bar so early in the evening, and he seemed to think that Lenny’s reason for being there was the same as his. He snagged the barstool next to Lenny’s and shoved his glass across the counter, asking for One more, please. Lenny knew immediately what he was, just like the man had known him from across the room, and he silently prepared his polite apologies.

You’re new around here. He did not make it a question, but his voice rose slightly at the end, giving Lenny room to reply.

Only for the w-weekend. I’m leaving t-t-tomorrow. Lenny sincerely hoped the man would understand that he wasn’t trying to trespass on his territory. A glance to the side through the smoky light showed him an enormous shoulder, and beyond that a head of close-cropped black hair. He couldn’t see much of the face, except that it seemed to be very smooth, angular. There was something familiar as well, though Lenny could not quite place it.

Oh, shame. Thought I might’ve finally had a neighbor. There was a pause. Wanna go do something anyway? I could show you my side of Austin.

Lenny knew exactly what sort of something the man had in mind and tried not to sound as nervous as he felt. No, thanks. I’m g-going to want a full night’s sleep. Still haven’t p-packed or anything. It was a true excuse, at least. Even if his idea of fun had gone in that direction, he really did have other things to do. The man caught on and didn’t press, and Lenny was grateful for that.

Where are you going back to?

Lenny finished off his drink, making the ice in the bottom rattle against the glass. Abilene. I’m Lenny, by the way.

Sebastian. And I’m from – he gestured vaguely with his beer – over there. A couple of blocks down. If you’re interested.

It occurred to Lenny at that point that he might have miscalculated. It sounded almost as though he was being hit on. It was uncomfortable, even if it was theoretically flattering. L-look, I really, really h-have to-

No, that’s fine. I get it. You have to pack. Sebastian’s voice was disappointed, lonely.

Lenny felt for him, but hardly enough to agree to a hookup, or whatever it was Sebastian wanted. He knew what loneliness was like, though. He knew what it was to be surrounded by people who had no idea, who couldn’t share his experience, and he knew that if Sebastian was a killer, it was only because he could not help himself.

They talked. Sebastian was from Spain. He’d been in Austin for a couple of decades, and Mexico City before that. He was making a living in hypnotherapy, making sad people stop smoking.

I’m good at it, he said. He winked at Lenny, in case there had been some chance he had not been understood. Lenny did understand.

I bet, he said. Me, I’ve never been g-good at that. I’m in town for the conference. Texas Science T-t-t-t-teachers’ Association. It’s a good job, steady, if you lay low. Anyway, hitting the seminar c-came with a little raise, so I figured...

Sebastian tipped his head to one side and nodded thoughtfully. You know, I could help you with that stutter. I do traditional, too. No tricks.

And there it was.

He must have seen Lenny make a face, because he laughed and threw his hands up in a peace gesture, sliding back from the table they had taken over up against the window. His laugh was contagious. Lenny had to grin.

Or not! Sorry, just, y’know, it’s what I do. Gotta be good at something, right?

It’s okay. Sorry, I’ve just g-gotten more advice than I ever wanted in the p-past three d-d-days. So you help people? That’s a little... unusual. There was no way to make that sound inoffensive, but Lenny figured he would understand. It was unusual. He tried to quell the stutter, but it didn’t work.

Sebastian shrugged.

Like I said, gotta be good at something. I do what I’m good at. It pays the bills, anyway. Well, some of them. Keeps me busy, too. You don’t know how boring it can get, with nothing to do. Anyway, it’s my thing.

He leaned forward, propped his elbows on the table, and rested his chin on his fists, looking at Lenny curiously.

What’s yours?

My...?

Your thing. There’s something different about you. It’s magnetic.

Lenny remembered the moment from earlier, when it had almost sounded like Sebastian was trying to invite him back to his place. He tried hard to think of something to say that wouldn’t sound harsh and wouldn’t encourage him, either.

Um, science t-teacher? Physics? Um... magnets, I mean? Heh? Get it? Science?

Sebastian  smirked, shook his head, and rolled his eyes. His eyes were brown, dark mahogany.

I’m serious. I felt it as soon as you walked in here.

Lenny didn’t really like having that conversation, either, the one where he explained that connection he had with dead things and how it really wasn’t as cool as it sounded. No one had ever described it as magnetic, before, but it was the same thing that had brought him to Kate all those years ago, and it seemed to kick in the most when the dead person really, really needed help. Another thing about being a medium – he had to help when he could. He didn’t have any choice. But there wasn’t much he could do about loneliness.

Lenny shook his head, and Sebastian sat back again, crossing his arms over his chest. His arms were huge. So was his chest.

You mean you don’t know? he asked. There was an edge in his voice. Not fear, exactly, but maybe nerves. He didn’t understand.

But there was no way Lenny was having that conversation in a crowded hotel bar with a stranger, even a stranger who needed help, so he smiled and shrugged.

Sebastian shrugged back, enormous shoulders rising once, and he grabbed his glass and stood up. He was big sitting, but he was even bigger standing.

Refill? he asked. On me.

Thank you?

Lenny watched him retreat back to the bar, and he thought about just leaving quietly. He hurt for Sebastian and his loneliness, he really did. But that strange thing the Spaniard felt and couldn’t understand... Lenny felt it too, when he took a moment to think around his two beers and a whiskey. The problem was that Lenny felt it from the other end of things. Sebastian was isolated, sinking, in desperate need of a hand to pull him back up; that was just a fact. He was also stained. Lenny could feel the faint echoes of every death he had caused, and in his whole life, he had never been in a room with someone who felt like that. Most vampires killed like animals – for food, for self-defense, for territory. Lenny didn’t like that, but he could deal with it. He didn’t really have another option but to deal with it. No one could call animals evil for killing things. Maybe Sebastian had his reasons. Maybe he’d had a lot of bad luck. Maybe it was cathartic, his way of dealing with his problems. Lenny doubted it, though. It was too much for an animal. Sebastian killed like a madman.

But madmen need help, sometimes, too. Lenny sat still and waited for him to come back, hoping he didn’t look as on edge as he was starting to feel. He may not have been exactly the standard model, but he was also not human. He and Sebastian were kindred. At least, in theory.

Sebastian set a glass in front of Lenny and sat back down. His expression was calm again, faintly smiling. He shot back half of his drink.

You ever been to Amarillo?

C-couple of times.

You know Tony and Edith?

Lenny took a sip of his drink and shook his head. Not well. I went through all the channels when I moved to T-texas. Met them once, then. They sent me a welcome b-basket.

No? Well, they don’t like me much. He grinned. You know anybody I might know? We gotta have some friends in common.

Something about the tone of that question struck Lenny as a little bit off, but he shook his head again. It’s just me in Abilene. I don’t t-travel much.

Oh... His expression went blank for a moment, but then he raised an eyebrow. That’s got to be boring. Who’s your progenitor?

Lenny hated that word. It was a really gross word, and it sounded like something that would describe an amoeba better than it described a person. But there had never been enough vampires to make a significant impact on language evolution, and humans have never needed a better word for that particular concept.

Kate Charles. She’s been g-g-gone a while. He took a sip, then knocked the rest of it back. This felt like an interrogation, but he had no idea what Sebastian was getting at.

Sebastian made a face. Doesn’t ring a bell. Guess you don’t get out much, huh?

I g-get out. I just like it when it’s t-t-time to go home.

Sebastian leaned forward suddenly, elbows on the table, and Lenny looked up to find him well inside his personal space, the other man’s gaze fixed steadily on his face. His fingertips were numb.

Come on, Sebastian coaxed. His voice was low and slick. It vibrated too fast for Lenny to catch hold of his words. What’s your deal? This is mine, so you know. I told you I was good at it.

Nothing, he insisted, but what came out of his mouth was Medium. Sebastian’s eyes were stunning, figuratively and literally. Lenny felt frightened for a moment before he stopped feeling anything.

Dead medium. That’s a new one. Sebastian smiled, pressing steepled fingers against his lips.

The sound of his voice was enthralling. It had so many layers, so many other voices inside, making Lenny feel tiny. He knew what was happening, in a remote, detached way, and he tried to stop listening, to look away. But Sebastian was good at it, and the first thing the good ones do is make you want to listen, make you want to get lost and listen, listen.

Bet you could show me some fun tricks, huh? I’ve never had a medium, before. And just you in Abilene, all alone... No one to miss you.

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THE STAIRWELL SMELLED like marijuana, stale urine, and very old blood. Lenny had taught students from this kind of neighborhood back in Houston, and Albuquerque before that, and San Diego before that. Hard-eyed children who wore loose pants to hide the knives they brought to school and long sleeves to hide the bruises they got at home. There are poor neighborhoods, and then there are bad ones. This was a bad one. He could smell it rising up out of the stained concrete floors. The air there had gone dark and sour long before a murderer like Sebastian moved in.

There were ghosts in the walls, and some of them were Sebastian’s fault. A few of them reached out, but Lenny could not stop for them. He kept following the enormous back drifting down the hallway in front of him, even though he was not sure why. Sebastian’s steps were silent. Lenny’s shuffled. The one told the other once to be quiet, and he could not, but it did not matter, because there was no one near to hear them. The doors were closed and bolted.

Then they were inside, and that door was closed and bolted, too. Sebastian locked it. Three deadbolts. Two chains. Lenny’s brain wandered. He wondered whether this could possibly be where Sebastian saw his clients. It did not look like a professional’s office. It barely looked like an apartment. There was a couch and a chair and a table with a few tattered paperbacks – all Westerns, oddly enough – some eight-tracks, and a half-full coffee mug, white cream coagulated on the surface. That was the extent of the furniture. The kitchen off the main room looked as though it had been converted into storage. Lenny felt as though something was missing, but he could not put his finger on exactly what.

Somewhere on the next floor up, or maybe the next floor down, a boom box was spewing profanity.

A huge hand closed over his shoulder and steered him toward the chair. The wood creaked when the backs of his thighs hit it, and something popped inside his head. He could remember the stairs and the hall, but before that... nothing. There was a gaping hole between the hotel bar and this tenement complex. He could not even recall what the outside of the building looked like. They had been sitting at the table, finishing a last drink, and then... Then nothing. Nothing until this place.

The overheads flickered on, highlighting horrible green wallpaper, peeling around the baseboards. Sebastian crossed in front of him and sat on the end of the couch, leaning back with a half-smile on his face. Lenny had sort of begun to expect that if Sebastian smiled again, it would be an unspeakably creepy expression, but it was not. Sebastian had a nice smile. It was even a little bit apologetic.

So, Sebastian whispered eagerly. Lenny almost could not hear him under the boom box. So, what’s it like?

The complete about-face threw Lenny off. He probably would not have made it far, but it did look like he had an opportunity to get the hell out of there. There was one window, taped over with aluminum foil to keep out the Texas heat. He had never been good at moving quickly, but he could probably have gone out that way. It would hurt, but it was a way out, and he would heal, and even crazy murderers do not necessarily want to go flying into the street in the middle of the night. Lenny was not fast, but he could probably drag himself to a convenience store or something by the time Sebastian made it down the stairs.

But he did not throw himself out the window. He could not be sure whether that was his decision or Sebastian’s.

He fidgeted instead. What’s what like?

Sebastian sat forward with his elbows on his knees, dislodging a paperback from the table. Being both. I’ve never even heard of that. Didn’t know it was possible.

It’s p-possible. It’s just not a very g-g-good idea.

Sebastian’s laugh filled the apartment. He had a good laugh, just like he had a good smile. It was hard not to laugh with him, but Lenny still remembered those words: no one to miss you. The window beckoned, but he did not try to leave. It was hard to be sure, with everything happening so fast, and that laugh ringing in his head, and those eyes drilling into him, but he was beginning to suspect that he had been kidnapped.

So, Sebastian repeated. What’s it like? Not a good idea, sure, but you seem to be doing okay for yourself.

Easier to b-blend in, I g-guess. Maybe Sebastian was just curious. One thing about immortality is that it often leads to mind-crushing boredom. Hobbies are a good way to fight that, but hobbies can easily turn into obsessions. Maybe his was learning. No matter how old you get, there is always something new to learn. If Lenny told him what he wanted to know, maybe he would leave him alone.

Sebastian tilted his head, politely expectant.

Lenny went on.

Can’t k-kill. But I’ve never felt the need to, so it’s all g-good. I think it messed up some stuff when I changed. My hearing’s okay, but it’s not real g-good. I’ve got b-b-bad balance. Some other stuff, too. I g-guess it was like drugs interacting. Neither thing really works the way it’s supposed t-to, any more.

Is it true that mediums can control dead things? Including the undead?

Media. It’s media, not mediums. And ‘c-control’ is too strong. More like influence, and only in ways that help.

He stopped, not sure why he had said that. Most people do not like hearing that someone has any kind of influence over them, even if that someone would never use it and could never do any damage even if he did. Lenny did not want to come across as any kind of threat, partly because he did not consider himself a threat, and partly because he did not feel like being pummeled for being perceived as one. But on the other hand, Sebastian had his own brand of influence going on, the kind that could pull information out of people like scarves out of a magician’s sleeve. Lenny swallowed hard.

Heh. I’d like to see you try. I heard you can’t change a medium. Obviously wrong, but...

Not against their will.

He grinned, and this time, the expression was ugly. I guess it follows that you wanted it, then.

Lenny nodded. He was not about to talk about Kate. He was not about to explain. Sebastian would not like his reasons, and he would not like her reasons, and Lenny did not like the line of thought that always brought him back to wondering whether he or Kate had ever had any choice, those years ago.

Something moved behind Sebastian, the shape of a man almost too faint even for Lenny to see. He was not a proper spirit, just an echo, and the echo had been fading for a long time. It was one of Sebastian’s ghosts, someone whose memory had been imprinted into the building by a violent death at the same time the rest of him went Wherever he was ultimately going to end up. Lenny managed to tear his eyes away from Sebastian for a fraction of a second, trying to get a better look at the memory standing behind him. It was harder than it should have been. He half expected some kind of dramatic warning, even though it had never worked that way, but the memory just stood there, his legs disappearing into the middle of the couch. He watched Lenny over the top of Sebastian’s head.

When Lenny looked back down again, Sebastian’s mahogany eyes were narrowed with speculation, the same sort of look someone might give a dime in a mud puddle, not quite sure whether it is worth the effort of picking it up, even if he needs an extra ten cents. He glanced back toward the ghost, squinted through it, and looked back at Lenny. He was wondering whether he could use him.

It was wrong. Everything was wrong, and there were more ghosts filling Lenny’s peripheral vision, other memories and a few real spirits. One of them whispered I’m sorry like a mantra, over and over just beneath the buzz of the electric lights. They knew something Lenny did not.

Listen, I’m g-g-gonna have t-to g-g-go p-pack. I have a b-bus to c-c-c-...

Have a drink, before you go.

What?

Just one. Look, I... The apologetic smile returned. It was tragic. If I gave you my phone number, would you... sometime... Do you think you might...?

Oh. Uh, sure. Lenny nodded, trying very hard not to look relieved. It was hard not to feel bad for Sebastian, whatever his problems might have been. Look, I’m d-down this way, sometimes. Not much, but sometimes. I c-c-could come see you. Some weekend, maybe?

He probably would, too, even though he did not want to. Sebastian needed help, and that is what media are for.

Sebastian smiled again, hopeful, that moment of ugliness gone, and got up to go to the kitchen. Lenny did not watch him; he was too busy feeling like he had dodged a serious bullet. There was the pop and hiss of two bottles of beer opening, a pause, and one of them found its way into Lenny’s hand. Sweat beaded on the glass and dripped down onto his khakis.

You’re scared, Sebastian said as he sat back down. I’m sorry about that. I just...

He did not have any words to explain, just shrugged. Lenny got the picture. He had no social skills, and his method for making friends was mildly terrifying. At least his taste in beer was good. Lenny sipped reluctantly. He had already had enough, but turning down a peace offering might be dangerous.

It’s okay. No hard feelings. I’m mostly just c-confused.

Sebastian’s expression did not change, but the smile became fixed, expectant. The ghosts in the corners of the room began to disperse, as though the show was already over. I just can’t figure out your angle, he continued. You’re on my turf, in my bar, playing like you want to be my friend. Pretty subtle, I’ll grant you. You actually had me going, for a while. Come back on weekends, my ass. And here you are, sticking around like you hadn’t even thought about running. I honestly can’t tell whether you’re for real or not.

Lenny wanted to point out that Sebastian was the one who threatened him, brought him there by force and was poking around in his head where he absolutely did not belong. He wanted to point out that, even though Sebastian scared the crap out of him, he could make himself overlook all that, because that is what a medium does. He did not get the chance.

Lenny did not even see him move. Sebastian must have had centuries on him to go so fast. One second, Lenny was trying to excuse himself, watching the ghosts to see whether they could give him a hint; the next, Sebastian was standing in front of him with his hand closed over Lenny’s jaw, not so tight it hurt, but too tight for him to move without breaking himself.

Lenny scrambled. His hand shot up reflexively to grasp Sebastian’s wrist, and Sebastian squeezed. Something in Lenny’s face cracked loudly, making him gag. Sebastian hissed like an animal and spit something at him in Spanish too fast and too old for Lenny to understand. His crazy eyes were wide and eager.

Sebastian pulled Lenny up close to his face, still talking. Most of Lenny’s brain was taken up with figuring how to get the hell away, but part of him realized that Sebastian was not talking to him; he was talking to himself, low and fast. Lenny could hear the power in his voice, even if he could not understand the words. Sebastian was convincing himself of something, weaving back the same spell he had used on Lenny. Something in his eyes changed when he made up his mind, went a little crazier, if that was possible.

Sebastian dropped his victim. Lenny stepped back, tripped over the chair, and fell hard. His face throbbed, and he could taste stale, dead blood. His blood. He got one arm underneath himself and began to push himself up when something like a fighter jet whistled overhead and came down on the back of his neck, flattening him again. Something pounded steadily inside his head, vaguely reminiscent of a heartbeat. It took him a moment to realize that someone was at the door.

Sebastian dragged him upright and bent to whisper in his ear.

Relax, he said, and Lenny did.

Sebastian threw Lenny over his shoulder like a rag doll, carried him through the apartment and dumped him on the floor in the bedroom. Lenny could not see anything but the awful, green wallpaper. He heard a door open, felt a vicious impact against his ribs, and was enfolded in darkness.

The closet smelled better than the rest of the building. It smelled like cedar chips, like Sebastian. Lenny heard his footsteps, the front door, a woman’s voice. Sebastian sounded happy to see her, which most likely meant that, even if Lenny called for help, she would not be one to give it. He tried anyway. He tried to scream, to reach the doorknob. But his voice did not work, and neither did his arms. Every muscle stayed slack.

He concentrated on the pounding in his jaw and in his side, because there was nothing else he could do. But after a minute, that began to fade, too. It diminished to an ache, then to a twinge, then to a tingle. He could not feel his hands, and his head felt like a balloon, and there was a bitter taste on the back of his tongue, underneath the tang of blood and beer. He tried to be angry, and he tried to be afraid, but it was too much effort. The voices in the other room lengthened like rubber bands, and the floor was soft, and he sank down into it.

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THERE WAS A VOICE, and he wanted it to be Mara. He was home, and she had invaded his half of the duplex again. He could almost smell the coffee. It would still be dark out, and they would talk as they both got ready for work. She would make fun of his sweater while she pulled her hair back. He would find her keys, because she was always losing them, and he would wait until after school to tell her all the things he had planned to say. He could smell the coffee. Her toothpaste. That weird shampoo she used that smelled like cough syrup and men’s cologne. He would tell her everything, so that if she kissed him again, she would know what she was getting herself into.

And she would know him inside and out, the way it should have been since the first time he realized how much he liked to hold her. She would know the truth of him, know all of him, know him the way the Bible means it, if she wanted to. He would tell her how he didn’t get a damn thing out of that conference, because he spent the whole time thinking of her.

They would sit in the dark with a bottle of cheap wine and laugh about his crappy weekend.

But it was not dark out. There was a tiny bead of light shining through his eyelid, agonizing before he had even opened his eyes. He turned his face away from it. There was carpet under his cheek. It smelled faintly, but he could not tell what it smelled like and did not care to spend energy trying to figure it out. Breathing made his entire body burn, so he stopped. Considering that revelation, he decided that trying to move would be a bad idea, too, so he stayed still. His throat burned, and he felt weak, and he knew what that meant, even though it was something he had not let himself feel for a very long time. He could not feel much, though. Everything was a bit numb, apart from the acute sensation of hangover. There were knives in his skull and something big trying to climb up his esophagus. He swallowed to keep it down, but it was having none of that, and he heaved at the musty carpet. His back screamed in protest. Nothing came up, but the nausea did not go away, so he kept heaving until the muscles would not contract again. It took him a few goes to figure out that his mouth would not open, either. Duct tape.

It had been too hard to be afraid, before, but now it was impossibly easy. The worst part was the realization that Sebastian had not killed him, which could only mean there was more coming. He could not even hazard a guess why Sebastian could possibly want him. Lenny was not the standard model, but he had no illusions that he was anything special, either. As a vampire, he had always been a miserable failure. As a medium, he had some skills, but nothing that could give someone else an edge. Besides, if Sebastian wanted a medium, he could just look one up in the phone book. He would have to filter through some charlatans, but media were anything but rare. Lenny could only assume that Sebastian was planning to make someone suffer one way or another, and Lenny happened to be the one in his way.

He heard the voice again, but only the one. Sebastian was on the phone. It sounded as though he was making an appointment. There was the click of the receiver hitting the cradle, then footsteps.

Finally, Lenny opened his eyes, pretty sure that he should make some kind of effort to defend himself, or at least get up. He was lying on his face halfway under a bed. The bead of light had come from a small window opposite the door, taped over with foil like the one in the other room. Two or three tiny holes let in thin rays of sun, and even that was enough to make his eyes ache. From underneath the bed, on the other side of the room, he could see the closet door. A shiver started at the base of his spine and worked its way through the rest of him.

He tried. He did try, but his arms would not move, and they were too numb for him to be able to tell why. His legs moved, but not well. It did not feel the same as before, when it was drugs and trance keeping him still. This felt like something tangible. More duct tape, maybe.

There was nothing else he could do, so he waited, counting the steps.

Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight.

Behind him, where he could not see no matter how much he twisted, a door opened. Light spilled into the room, and he had to close his eyes.

Nine. Ten. Eleven.

A huge hand closed over his shoulder, rolling him onto his side, and then two bulky arms worked their way underneath him, lifting him up. A short drop onto the bed, and he figured out where his arms were – pulled back behind him as far as they could possibly go, bound together from elbow to wrist. His shoulder popped quietly. He would have screamed, but his mouth was taped shut, and he was pretty sure his jaw was broken, and he could not get a decent breath in, anyway.

The bed creaked and tilted slightly as Sebastian sat on the edge.

Lenny opened one eye to see Sebastian looking at him. The light was behind him, and Lenny’s vision was weak, so he could not see his expression, but he could still see his eyes.

Are you for real?

Sebastian wanted him to be for real. He wanted a friend, so Lenny nodded, ignoring the pain in his shoulders and in his head, even though at that moment he wanted nothing more than to be somewhere else.

And Sebastian saw that, saw him lying, and reached down to grab his throat. He could not strangle a vampire, but it hurt all the same. It stung, like he had grabbed an open wound. Lenny felt the skin around his eyes tighten until they could get no wider. Sebastian pulled him up close to his face.

Do you know what contagious magic is?

Lenny knew that he did, but he was too scared to remember, and far too scared to risk lying again. He just looked at him.

There are three forms of external magic. There’s symbolic – spells and words and circles and crap. Then there’s sympathetic – using a representation of something, like a doll or something that looks like what you want to mess with. Then there’s contagious. Contagious is controlling the whole thing by controlling part of the thing. Do you understand?

Hard as he tried to think, Lenny had no idea what Sebastian was getting at. He shook his head as much as he was able, and fortunately, that seemed to be an acceptable answer. Sebastian did not hurt him, just dropped him back down onto the bed, which hurt enough when it wrenched his arms.

Contagious magic is part of what goes into turning a human into a vampire. I assume you’re familiar with the process.

He looked down and grinned to show that was a joke. Lenny quivered.

Mutual exchange. They take your blood, you take theirs. It forms a link. That’s intrinsic, by the way, not external. Anyway, once they’ve got yours, they assimilate it, see? Your blood they’ve got turns into theirs. And that goes back through that link and touches all the rest, touches the source, and all of your blood turns into theirs. Instant vampire. You understand?

Lenny knew all of that but still did not see how it was relevant. It had to be relevant somehow, and he twisted his brain to try to find the meaning, desperately hoping to do something right, but found nothing. If Sebastian’s plan was to keep him as a captive audience for magic lessons, it could have been much, much worse.

Sebastian shook his head sadly and reached out to touch the side of Lenny’s throat, between the tendon and the voice box, right where it twinged. It was a gentle touch, like a lover. Lenny didn’t dare move, even though he thought he might be sick again.

Control a part, control the whole. You can use stuff like hair, spit... fingernails... But what works the best is...

He smiled and nodded, watching Lenny’s face. His hand came away and he stood up. The bed frame squeaked.

There you go. Now you understand.

He left the room and closed the door, taking the light with him, all but the two or three tiny specks from the pinpricks in the window foil.

Lenny knew what could be done with someone else’s blood. With enough power and the right learning, Sebastian could have him dancing like a puppet on strings. It was too much to hope that he did not really know what he was doing, that it was nothing but show.

That left Lenny little time. The back of his throat was burning, and his limbs were shaky, and if he did not get out soon, he would lose the capacity for rational thought. That was always the first thing to go. The human brain – even if not precisely human, anymore – eats up a huge amount of energy. It was much easier, much more economical, to shift into low gear, switch off the cerebral cortex, and let instinct take over. It freed up all of that energy for more vital things, things like finding more energy. It would also leave Lenny with one all-encompassing goal and the IQ of a very dumb dog or a very precocious squirrel. If he stopped thinking, Sebastian would have free rein inside his head. He was not sure what that would mean, exactly, but his guesses were anything but comforting.

Then, miraculously, he heard the chains rattle and the deadbolts slide back, and the front door opened and shut. The bolts slid back into place. Faintly, he heard footsteps in the hall outside, receding down into the stairwell.

And why should Sebastian stick around? His prisoner was about as stuck as he could possibly get, too weak to break through duct tape, which meant that he must have been bled nearly dry. Lenny tried not to think too hard about that. But Sebastian had to have forgotten something. He was older than Lenny, physically stronger than him, and Lenny got the feeling that Sebastian had a lot more handy extras also. Like a working knowledge of contagious magic. He kept trying not to think too hard about that.

Lenny’s only advantage, as far as he could tell, was that he might possibly be smarter. Might. Possibly. If he was going to get out of there, he was going to have to get creative. That was easier said than done when he was drugged and hemorrhaged and busy imagining all the ways the situation could get worse.

Creativity would not come, and trying made his head pound even more, so he did the only thing that came to mind. Slowly, slowly, he edged around, a fraction of an inch at a time, until his legs hung over the edge of the bed, and he could use a combination of gravity and momentum to swing himself up to sitting. The movement made his chest cramp, and the sudden change of position made him dizzy. He felt so smart for taking advantage of that momentum, but that same force nearly flung him face-first into the floor, where he would have been even more stuck than he was already. He closed his eyes and waited for the sickness to pass, and when he opened them again, he had a better idea of his situation.

His arms were taped behind him. He knew that already. There was no way he was getting out of that, no convenient sharp object fixed to a wall at the appropriate height. Even if there had been, he could feel nothing past his shoulders except for the occasional shooting pain, and trying to saw through tape was more likely to injure him than to free him. His mouth was taped shut. A few hours of spitting and blowing might be enough to work through the adhesive, but he could not count on having a few hours to try it. He could not count on having much voice, either, with the way his throat burned. Certainly not enough voice to attract attention and call for help. His legs were taped together, too, at least two visible layers from knee to ankle, wound liberally over his khakis.

There had to be something sharp somewhere in the apartment. Even a purely decorative kitchen had to have some kitchen knives, or at least a pair of scissors, though using either without hands would be an exercise in contortionism. Even a pencil would help, or a chipped edge on a table. There had to be something.

Lenny leaned forward and slowly worked himself up to standing, but his bad balance worked against him, and he almost fell. Hopping from the bed to the door would be impossible, and that was before