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Twilight Of The Gods Act 1

Epilogue

Saturday, December 1, 1906 AD - afternoon Twelve kilometers outside of Munich ...

A man's shadow loomed over her, his silhouette stretching across the floor of the prison cell. He cleared his throat, holding up a paper pamphlet.

Keturah lifted her gaze, unable to see the man's face with the lighting behind his head.

The light came from the sun. It shined through a window behind the man. The bright caused Keturah's soft green gaze to enlarge; her pupils dilated.

"These writings we found on you..." The man spoke English with a very slight German dialect. "They are radical, heinous, and they disgust me."

Keturah smirked. "Which ones?"

"This one, in particular," he said, "I found quite distasteful."

"Read it to me, then. Make me understand why you hate it."

The man glanced down at the page. It glowed in his hand from the sunlight behind him. "It says, 'Yes, for that is adultery where woman submits herself sexually to man, without desire on her part, for the sake of "keeping him virtuous." "Keeping him at home," the women say. Well, if a man did not love me and respect himself enough to be "virtuous" without prostituting me ... he has no virtue to keep. And that is rape, where a man forces himself sexually upon a woman whether he is licensed by the marriage law to do it or not. And that is the vilest of all tyranny where a man compels the woman he says he loves, to endure the agony of bearing children that she does not want, and for whom, as is the rule rather than the exception, they cannot properly provide. It is worse than any other human oppression; it is fairly God-like! To the sexual tyrant there is no parallel upon earth; one must go to the skies to find a fiend who thrusts life upon his children ... only to starve and curse and outcast and damn them! And only through the marriage law is such tyranny possible... ' This ... this disgusted me."

Keturah sat up and rubbed her eyes. She used her thumbs to draw back the blond curtains, which framed her youthful face.

"You have no recourse?"

"You attacked me," said the succubus. "You struck me upon my head and dragged me to this," she gestured about the area. "This cell. You have had no answer as to why. You have given no rhyme, no reason and you have not seen fit to provide a trial."

"You think I am ... what is the English word? A ... sheriff?" The man lowered to one knee, coming face to face with Keturah between the bars. "You are not human. You are a demon. You are proof that non-human persons exist. My order is taking you to Italy, where the Vatican will show you off as scientific proof to the world that demons still exist."

"May I have my book returned unto me, please?"

"This trash?" The man held up the collection of short stories. "This is disgusting."

"It's the work of Voltairine de Cleyre. A woman should have sex because she desires it, not because she was forced or duped into marriage, as an excuse for a rapist to be considered virtuous."

"You are a demon," he said. "You have no rights. You are not human. You defile men's soul by tricking them into your bed. How could you consider men rapists? You are the rapist. You rape the good and the true by corrupting their hearts."

"You..." Keturah narrowed her eyes. "Have no idea what you're talking about."

The man stood up. "You should be dissected by the Vatican. Whether or not you arrive in Rome with breath in your body is another matter entirely."

Keturah grimaced. She squinted, trying to see the man's face. "You're lying to me. Why are you lying?"

The man tore the pamphlet out of the collection piece. He crumbled it up and dropped it on the floor just beyond Keturah's reach, on his side of the cell bars. "You are perceptive for an object. However, you are quite correct - you are not to travel to Italy. You have been purchased instead."

"One cannot sell what ... one maintains no ownership." Her speech began to slur. "One ... cannot sell a woman who ... whom ... he ... does not own..." She fell to her side, staring at his shoes. "How ... I cannot..." Consciousness faded in and out.

"The water I brought to you, succubus. This modern miracle of medicine and chemistry is designed to..." His voice faded, along with everything else.

The world turned sideways. She lay on her side, staring through the bars.

She saw two men talking.

One was her captor, the other ... she didn't recognize him. One corner of his mouth remained closed while speaking, a possible sign of polio.

She fought to regain full consciousness, however, it faded again. Darkness...

X

X

Unknown date and time...

Keturah woke to a burning pain in her hands and arms. Her chest ached.

A voice, somewhere behind her, said, "My apologies for the discomfort. This primitive cesspool of an era does not have the technology to make the drugs, nor do they have the tools to perform the surgery the way I would have hoped. The pain will pass, succubus."

Keturah sat up and rubbed at her eyes. Her palms glowed a soft carnation coloring. She pinched her eyelids shut, and then gazed down at her glowing palms.

There were glyphs of some sort beneath her skin. She didn't recognize them as cuneiform or hieroglyphics. She turned around and gripped the bars of her cell but it hurt to add pressure to her palm.

Keturah jerked her hands back and favored them, holding one hand with the other. "What did you do? Who are you?"

"You're a test subject. You're disposable because you're a failure from my other experiment. I'm disappointed, but if this operation kills you, it will be no loss to me."

Emotions welled up in her chest, causing the pink glow to brighten around her collarbone. The cell brightened somewhat. "Why did you do this?! What grief have I caused you to bring about this ... this torture?"

"It is something I wish to do to myself, Keturah. When I found out that your twin sister died from age, I knew my experiment to give you life everlasting had failed. You're doomed to die anyhow. It's best I use you for my latest experiment."

Keturah swallowed. Did this man really think that Kerii Mae was her twin sister? How could he _not_know that she was over two centuries older than Kerii?

Keturah took a deep breath and held it in for a moment, welling herself to calm.

The glowing lessened.

"Fascinating. Did you intend that consequence?"

"I ... I should wish not to speak with you."

"It appears your heart rate is relaxing. So ... you can control it by either emotion, or by tensing up. Perhaps it could be a combination of both?"

"Oi!" she erupted. "Piss off, then, yeah?"

"Oh, Keturah, you're reverting to your old manner of speaking, probably due to being exhausted. You lack tact and class when you revert."

"Fook ya, then. Come in here, gov. Let me kick yer arse, and we'll see just what'a failure I am, then, won't we now?"

"Keturah ... I would that we speak another time. I look forward to monitoring you. But first..." The man stepped closer to the cell.

She couldn't see his face, only that he had a piece of silverware in his hand. "Take this from me, and I'll let you eat with it."

"Kiss off, you sodding git."

"No, take the utensil."

She approached the bars, causing the chains upon her ankles to rattle. She pressed herself against the bars and reached through them.

He stepped back so that he was just beyond the reach of her grasp.

"Oi! Are yew gonna let me 'ave it then, or wot?"

"Reach for it. I need to see if the ability has manifested. With my kind, it is instantaneous. Sometimes it takes a little ... shall we say ... finesse to..."

"Shat ya' gabber, you fookin' cunt. Make with the bloody silverware then, eh? Yew don't tease a lady."

"You're no lady, Keturah."

"Am so! I got all me fookin' teeth, I have!" She made like the Cheshire Cat and bared her teeth. "See, you con't fake pearlies like this!"

"You've worked so hard to speak like an American, Keturah. And not just any American, but a 'well-to-do' who migrated to California. Please, take the utensil and I will let you eat with it."

She reached through the bars, grinding her sore shoulder against the metallic poles. She couldn't reach it.

Finally, out of frustration, she spit towards the man. "I'll use my fingers, you bloody Nancy. I don't ... I do not have time for your misogynist games." Her last sentence transitioned over to the practiced American dialect.

"There you go, much better."

"You know my arm isn't that long."

"Don't use your hand to grasp it. If you truly desire to eat with this fine silverware, you will reach for it by thinking about it."

"You're a loon, you are." She took a deep breath and withdrew her hand from between the bars. "Sustain me with vitals or do not. I no longer care."

"Fine. I shall wish to visit you tomorrow." The man turned and left.

"Fuck! YOU!" She shouted after him but received no response.

Silence.

Keturah slumped against the bars and sighed softly. She looked down at her hands. Her palms ached most of all.

She opened and closed her hands a few times. "I would kill for some Bayer Aspirin." She thought of something stronger. Heroin or opium would certainly help with the pain.

She turned and kicked the cell bars. The leg irons rattled their chains, hanging loosely from her lithe ankles.

The simple act of tensing up caused her palms to brighten. It didn't hurt any worse than she already felt.

Keturah kicked the bars again, keeping herself tensed up. The glyph beneath her palm brightened considerably - so much so, that it illuminated the dim cell.

She clenched her teeth, grinding her molars.

The more Keturah tensed her body, the more her palms incandesced. The faint outline of a glyph appeared beneath the flesh of her wrists. "Christ, Jesus! What grief did you bring me?!"

No one answered.

She reached for the bars and pulled on them but nothing happened. She jerked her body from left to right, hoping to loosen one from where it was mounted into the floor.

Keturah felt lightheaded. She slumped to the ground, panting softly. Adrenaline filtered out of her body and she felt sick to the stomach. It was akin to the feeling of when she used to be addicted to heroin a few years ago.

She went through the shakes and her stomach rushed up. Keturah doubled over and opened her mouth but she had nothing to throw up. Instead, she dry-heaved for a moment. She felt dizzy, and broke out in a cold sweat.

Keturah laid on her side. The buzz-kill sensation passed. It was over as quickly as a cold dessert migraine.

Keturah sighed. She felt faint and closed her eyes.

A voice down at the end of the hallway - the voice of the man from before, said, "What a disappointment. I was so close. The technology doesn't work anymore. It's either too old, or her body rejects it."

Another voice said, "Perhaps she is simply too weak. You see the way she strained. Why would you find a succubus, anyhow? Let alone one that has a substance abuse problem? A few years ago, it was heroin. Now it's morphine and cocaine. She chases these drugs with alcohol, more often than not."

"Andrew, there is no need. Just ... stop. With all due respect, it is unnecessary."

"Clarence, you should consider a healthy candidate."

"Do not use my name."

"You used mine."

Clarence sighed. "Very well, you have my sincerest apology. It no longer matters. It is your thirty year mark, Andrew. In a few days, you'll move to another state, or back to Europe. You'll change your name and start over, as you always do."

"Today is as good of a day as any." Andrew shook hands with Clarence. "Be well. It was an honor to work alongside of you."

"Andrew ... I wish to have your new contact information."

"...Why?"

"I'm close."

"Close?"

"I'm close to going back. There are less than one hundred of us left. It's ... it's time we go back."

"You can't be serious. It's been ten thousand, four hundred revolutions."

"You counted?"

Andrew scoffed. "Niall counted. Marian counted."

Clarence sighed. "Marian..."

"Even the best of us struggle to maintain a healthy mentality. Farin Javari was the oldest when we left, a mere seven hundred years old. Methuselah was the first to die. And when he did, we made a vow never to return, no matter how many of us pass."

"There was two thousand of us, then!" Clarence sighed. He cleared his throat and added,"I did not mean to raise my tone in such a way. Again, you have my sincerest apology."

"Have you spoken to Niall?"

"He is opposed to the idea. I expressed the desire to return with him, but I will make do without." Clarence sighed. "Would you join me?"

"Yes."

Clarence embraced his friend. "I wish to have your new contact information when you have settled."

"When do you seek to return?"

"The technology does not yet exist." Clarence paused. "It is time to help human technology forward again."

"I'm listening."

"Give me a quarter century. I will guide human technology along, and we will see them descend a half mile. Thirty years at the most."

"Air filtration does not exist. Glass cannot handle the pressure."

"Andrew ... be calm. Fused quartz, several inches thick - that will most certainly manage the pressure of the deep. Breathing ... we only need oxygen to the crew."

"You truly wish to send humanity to the bottom of the ocean to search for home?"

"Yes, Andrew."

"What is your plan for the carbon dioxide? Your test subjects will die."

"The crew will not have long trips. They will merely inspire humanity to reach for the depths of the sea, as a frontier to be conquered. Soda lime and calcium chloride will absorb the carbon dioxide and moisture."

"And how do you plan to return to the capital city? It is far too deep. It is at the bottom of the Atlantic, my friend."

Clarence sighed. "A single sphere designed to travel to the depths - that is where we begin. Then, when we are ready, I will help to build an enormous vessel to take us home. Construction on a superstructure will begin in approximately four decades. I hope to have it completed one hundred fifteen years from now. I will keep a strict schedule."

"Why so long?"

"If we employed five thousand workers, we could finish it in a few decades. But that would be five thousand people who would have to be committed to the project to the point they would not speak upon the matter, lest the Esoteric Council finds out. Or worse, the Celestial Realm."

"Ah. Now I understand why you've asked me to remove all reflective surfaces in the warehouse."

"Can I trust you, Andrew?"

"You should kill your test subject. If she goes free..."

"The test is a failure. She will die in her cell. Besides, no one listens to a demon who uses men for sexual transgressions. I wish to study her a bit longer." Clarence took Andrew's hand and shook it. "Be well."

"I will contact you soon enough. Go on, Clarence. I will stay and monitor her. I will contact you if she exhibits any side effects."

"Andrew..."

"She is a succubus. She won't mind."

"I could care less if she minds what thoughts you currently possess, Andrew. She is a subject - an object. She is for use and disposal at best. However, I would not wish harm or sickness to come of you."

"Clarence, we are immune. You know this."

"To simple human illnesses. Imagine the contaminants retained by the body of a succubus, Andrew? You would jeopardize your health?"

"It is my decision to make. It has been far too long and she has an alluring face."

"Should you grow ill, do not cry to me. And yes, please, let me know if she exhibits any signs. How long will you stay?"

"For you? Three days. If she shows no signs by that time, I will dispose of her for you."

"Thank you, Andrew. Fair you well."

"And you, my friend."

Clarence smiled. He left the end of the hallway and closed the door behind himself.

Silence resumed.

Keturah swallowed. She knew she had to use the situation to her advantage. The fact she hadn't fed in three days ... well, this situation presented itself, and she planned to take full advantage of it."

Andrew approached the cell.

Keturah stood up. Her leg irons rattled.

Andrew approached the cell. "Back against the wall, wench."

"Wench?" She stepped back a few paces. "I've not heard that one in an age."

"Against the wall, I said."

Keturah hiked up her dress in the front. Her bloomers were around her ankles. "Is this what you seek, Andrew?"

The man grimaced. "I knew he shouldn't have used my..."

"It's of no consequence," Keturah said. "You cannot force the willing."

"And what of your pamphlets by the writer that speaks of a woman's body in such a way?"

"It's well worded," she said. "It's written with passion. If a woman wishes not such things, and it is forced upon her, then it is rape, married or not. However, I starve ... feed me, Andrew."

He unbuckled his belt with a smirk.

"You'll have to remove the leg irons."

"What? Why?"

"It would be difficult to spread for you, with my ankles tethered in a way as such."

"Just one..."

"Very well, if you want bruises on your back and sides, when I wrap my legs around you..."

Andrew stared at her for a moment.

She reached beneath the slightly dirty dress and removed her undergarments. They dropped to her ankles, unable to be removed due to the ankle restraints. "All I ask for is a proper last supper."

"You know, do you?"

"That you would take my life when Clarence has left? Yes. I know your identity. You wish to leave no manner of person to trace you."

Andrew stared at her for a moment. "You will behave?"

"My ... 'twin sister' passed twelve months ago. A succubus can only hope to live so long. If it is my time, I had a memorable life ... longer than any modern human. I harbor no regrets."

"I'll return with the key." He left the cell. Moments later, the man returned with keys to her manacles. "Sit your rump upon the floor, I'll remove your fetters."

Keturah settled on the ground and hiked her dress suggestively.

Andrew removed her leg braces. She considered kicking him in the chest, but she knew that provoking a man was never a good idea. He outweighed her, and he was stronger than her.

Instead, she let it happen. She wasn't exactly enthusiastic about it, but she needed to feed, and more importantly, she needed to take the chance that he would fall asleep afterwards. Most men and women did, after all.

She parted her knees and leaned back. Her blond hair fanned out around her head. She offered him a doe-like gaze to appear weak and coy.

He stood over her, licking his lips.

"Be gentle?"

"With a succubus? I always imagined that you preferred it rough."

"Perhaps after a bottle of wine, and some sweet words. But, no, you'll need to work your way in; I am not exactly prepared for this. Please, be gentle."

"I'll do what I damn well please."

She knew that appearing meek would appeal to his macho psyche. Of course, psychology was just a string of theories, but she knew men well enough to know that they needed to exert some sort of dominance to feel entitled over the body of a woman.

She decided to play up to it.

He lowered his trousers. A moment later, Andrew mounted her.

Just as she promised, she dug her heels into his lower back. His attempts to have his way with her was fairly bland. It wasn't anything to write home about.

Keturah knew she was probably the most attractive female with whom he'd ever had the pleasure of trying to copulate. However, like most men who hadn't experienced the chance to be sexually active for a while, he was quick. Too quick.

She was only just starting to warm up when he found release and it was over.

She pondered complaining, but she knew he would have one act left after release - he was going to try and kill her.

Now it was her time to act. She reached up and pulled his face into her chest, something most men would not resist. As soon as his body was lying flush upon her, she rolled with him, until she was on top. "Will you let me finish?"

He looked up at her.

The succubus was perched upon his waist, rocking her hips against his.

Andrew smirked. "I have no desire to..."

"It will be my last. Won't you let me have my moment? Please, be courteous."

"Keturah..."

"I'm almost there. Please. Are you not man enough to know how to please a woman? I thought you were - you nearly have me..."

"I..." His eyes showed that he was tired. "You have a minute. I prefer not to be in this compromising position."

"But you've finished," she argued, rocking her hips. "You are no more likely to thrust, than..."

"Just finish," he snapped.

Keturah reached down and grasped his shirt as if riding a bucking bronco. She worked her hips back and forth.

It was a miserable sensation, and she was nowhere near close to release.

"How does it feel?" he asked.

"So good," she lied with a faux moan.

His eyes were beginning to flutter shut. He was fighting the sleepiness but it was a losing battle.

"Almost, just a little more," she told him. "I am _so_close."

"Just ... hurry ...up." His eyes shut.

She reached for his hands and put them on the floor at his sides. She placed her knees atop of his wrists, pinning them down. Keturah placed her hands around his neck and pushed her thumbs against his throat.

It wasn't morphine. It wasn't cocaine. But the rush of energy she received from his release was perfection. She held her thumbs against his neckline, stopping the flow of his blood to his head.

After a moment, he went from falling asleep - a side effect of a romp with a succubus - to being completely unconscious. She held her thumb in place.

His pulse began to slow. Keturah reflected on her actions - she'd never taken a life while mounted upon a tryst before. She hated this man just enough to want to try it with him.

With her thumb against his throat, the color began to drain out of his face. His lips grew pale. His breathing became shallow. And then ... his breathing stopped.

The pulse in his throat slowed to a halt.

Keturah, high from the sensation of the feed, chortled with glee. "That's it ... you got to die with a smile on your face, Andrew. Send hell my regards. And when you arrive, be a _proper_gentleman and save me a seat at the bar."

Andrew's body relaxed as the life drained out of him.

Keturah stood up. Part of her wished they'd given her water, so she could have pissed on him. They accused her of being unladylike. She would have proven it to him, but ... no.

She gathered her undergarment and bloomers.

She glanced down at Andrew's body.

She checked his pockets. She found the keys, a small bit of money, and a pouch of cocaine. She opened it and licked her finger. She pushed it into the nearly-empty pouch and then rubbed it on her gums.

Keturah looked at the pouch, which was unlabeled. "Breaking Federal laws, are we, Mister Andrew? The Pure Food and Drug Act says you're supposed to label the content." She closed the pouch and tucked it into her shirt. "We'll save this for later."

She frowned. "Unless ... we're not in America anymore."

She knelt over him and glared at the dead man. "Have you arrived in hell yet? Perhaps you're in line at the Pearly Gates, and they have yet to give you the bad news. When I find Clarence, he'll be joining you. You see? I will send you a friend you know and trust."

Truthfully, she wanted to spit on him, but he wasn't worth expending the effort.

She made her way out of the cell and crept through the renovated warehouse.

On the far end of the building, she heard the most obnoxious sound. It was loud, like a steam or gasoline engine, but there was a constant hum behind it.

Keturah found her way to a set of stairs and descended them. They went down under the warehouse, below the surface.

The hallway was dimly illuminated with a string of incandescent bulbs. They weren't very bright - certainly not nearly as bright as the pink object that seemed to be in her hand.

She grimaced. The pain was still there, and now that she remembered it, it started to bother her again.

She held her hand aloft and tensed her forearm. The glow cast the hallway in carnation lightning.

"You're not completely useless, Clarence. You've given me a built-in torch. I will take what I can get."

At the end of the hallway, the doors were unlocked. Inside, a machine was running that created an arc of electricity between two large ball-shaped objects.

Keturah had never seen anything like it before. She decided it needed to be destroyed. Nothing would give her more pleasure than finding a way to start a fire.

She found a newspaper written in a German language. It was poorly folded, as if it had been taken apart and put back together several times. The name of the paper was, 'Neue Zürcher Zeitung'. She couldn't read German very well, but recognized enough words to tell the date. Friday, November 20, 1906. The paper was disheveled and appeared about a day old.

In the opposite corner sat a black metal canister. Keturah opened the lid and waved her hand over the opening. She sniffed at the contents, but from a distance, just in case it was poison.

Keturah cringed. She didn't recognize the scent but was curious if it would burn. She dumped the canister out, pouring it along the walls, and around the base of the machine, then she left a trail from the machine to the walls.

With everything poured out, she rolled up some of the newspaper and held it towards the electric arc, emitted by the machine. She paused, smirked, and dipped the tip of the newspaper in the rank smelling liquid.

Just to see if it was flammable, she held the newspaper up and touched it to the electric arc dancing about between the two large prongs of the machine.

The dampened end of the newspaper ignited and burned. "Splendid." She carried the makeshift paper torch to the doorway of the room and dropped the burning paper against the wall.

Flames sprouted up and ran along the outside of the room. The fire traced the trail leading towards the center of the room. It surrounded the machine with the large electricity arc.

Keturah grimaced, having a brief flashback to witch burnings on the east coast, a number of years ago.

After a moment, the fire spread up the side of the machine, disrupting its functionality.

She expected an explosion and hid in the corner, just on the other side of the doorframe. The succubus peered around the corner, waiting to see the fruits of her labor come to a glorious end.

The arc of electricity, which connected the two large ball-shaped prongs above the machine, began to brighten. The arc split off in several directions.

Fire crept up the walls and raced along the ceiling. Smoke began to fill the room.

She squinted her eyes. Between the electricity and the fire, everything was very bright.

She heard something strange.

Keturah assumed the sound of the fire was playing tricks on her ears. She heard a call for help in English.

She blinked. She was somewhere in Germany. She knew that much, for sure, based on the newspaper she found and burned. How could anyone call for help in English?

The voice called out again, "This is bullshit! Where the hell is the door?! God dammit!"

Keturah balled her left hand into a fist. She squinted her eyes and tried to peer through the fire and smoke.

She saw what looked like a man at the far end of the room. "Hello? Is anyone in there?!"

To her surprise, someone answered. "Hello?! Where are you! I'm surrounded by a goddamn fire!"

It was English. It _was_a person speaking it.

She took a deep breath and hurried into the burning room without thinking about it. The whole way in, she scolded herself for rushing into a burning room to save someone she didn't know. The problem was, she set the room on fire. She had taken lives, but it was never for pleasure.

Keturah held her left hand over her face to protect her eyes. "Where are you?!"

"I'm here!" The voice was near.

A part of the ceiling had collapsed and there was a wooden beam lying across the body of a man in a suit. His sport jacket was torn. He used a flap to cover his mouth.

Keturah knelt besides him and put her hands on the beam. It wasn't hot, at least not the section lying across his chest.

She tried to lift it but she couldn't. "It's too heavy!"

"Karla?!"

She blinked. "You're confusing me with someone else. Did you fall through the ceiling from upstairs? Why do you speak English?"

"I'm American," he said. "You gotta help me, Karla. God damn it's good to see you. I'll explain everything when we get out of here. Where's Kerii?"

Keturah blinked. "What?"

"We'll find her, just get this damn thing off me!"

"I can't move this! It's too heavy!"

"Use your power!" he told her.

"What power?!" she exclaimed. "If you push and I pull, maybe I can roll it off of you, but it might crush your arm, if we're not careful!"

"Okay, we'll do it together. On three, Karla. One, two, three!"

She pushed and he pulled.

Throughout the grunt of pushing, she said, "I'm not Karla, American!" She tensed her body hard and shoved with all her might.

The wooden beam went across the room and struck the wall. It sat in the flames and, after a moment, became engulfed.

She reached for his hand and pulled him to his feet hard.

He cried out in pain and reached over to his shoulder. "You pulled my arm out of the goddamn socket, girl! Jesus, watch the grip." He wormed his way out of his jacket and draped it over her head to protect her long blond hair.

"Sorry I..."

"Did you see Kerii Mae in here?"

"My sister?! Of course not! Who the hell are you?"

"Just move!" He used his good arm to guide her forward. "Which way is the door?"

"This way!" She led him out of the room, through the door, and into the hallway. They took stairs up to the first floor.

Keturah made her way outside but it was blustery and cold.

She guided the sport coat down from her head and wrapped it around her torso. It was large on her lithe frame. The bottom of the coat came down to her thighs. "This is a sorted mess, innit now?"

"Are you drunk?"

"What? No! Cocaine does not make one inebriated, you silly sodding American."

"It's just ... you usually don't sound English unless you're drunk."

"Well, for your information, I'm actually Welsh."

The man came around in front of her and put his hands on her arms, rubbing his palms up and down on her biceps to keep her warm. "What's your name?"

"Keturah."

He sighed and shook his head. "God, that's right. Keturah. If you're still Keturah then ... goddammit." He took a deep breath and released another sigh, this one more exasperated than the last. "Was anyone else in that building, and what year is it?"

"Did you hit your head?" she asked in a slightly confused tone. She licked her lips, adding, "The year is 1906. You're the only person left in that bloody shithole, luv. I found a periodical dated for Friday, but I think it was yesterday's edition. It looks like someone'd been reading it and put it back together poorly." She trailed off and pointed to the twilight sky. "Maybe several times. And it's only the middle of the afternoon. Can you read a whole sodding paper in a few hours? I believe it's at least a day old. It feels like a Saturday to me, so it must be the first."

The man frowned. He ran his hands up through his hair and sighed. "I forgot."

"What?"

"How you over-explain things, sometimes."

"Y'wot?"

"Nothing just ... never mind."

Keturah reached for his left hand and ran her thumb over his wedding ring. "Were you captured too? They drugged me and brought me here. I'm not sure why. The last thing I remember is ... it was the first week of November. These people brought me clear across America, across the Atlantic, and across Europe. Please forgive me if I banter on, luv. I make it a habit of prattling about nothing o' consequence after a feed. I'm fairly certain the cocaine di'n help matters."

He withdrew his left hand from her grasp and looked down at his wedding band.

The man sighed softly.

He stared at it and shook his head. His gaze lifted.

Keturah took a deep breath and, in her practiced Americanized dialect, she asked, "By what name should I address you?"

"Nathanial Carrington."

Keturah's jaw went slack. She swallowed back a tinge of emotion, but it got the better of her. She wrapped her arms around him.

Nathan grimaced in pain and hooked his good arm around her. "Are you okay?" The pain began to fade in his other shoulder. "Can you help me with my dislocated shoulder?"

Keturah took his wrist in her grasp and nodded towards the ground. "Kneel, there, it'll be easier. I'm short, y'know."

The man sighed and lowered to one knee. "Just ... go easy, this time. Don't rip it off, like you nearly did a few minutes ago."

"Christ, Kerii never mentioned that you bitch and moan about every little thing." She pulled and shifted.

Nathan groaned softly. He jerked his wrist from her grasp and stood up, favoring his shoulder. The pain faded quickly. His body healed the damaged tissue and tendons. "Bullshit," he muttered.

She stepped away and cleared her throat, just glad that she wasn't in the middle of nowhere all alone. "So you were my sister's husband..." The succubus drew her hair back, behind her ears. "Kerii spoke fondly of you."

Nathan reached into his pocket and withdrew a thin slate of glass. He held it up in the afternoon sun but the device had been crushed, likely when the wooden beam landed across his body, ten minutes ago.

Keturah remained quiet for the moment.

"You're talking about her in the past tense. Where is she? She should be here."

"She passed away recently. She left a letter, addressed to you, saying that she knew you would return soon. She said she wanted to see you one last time, and feel your arms around her one last time. She was never that romantic, unless the topic turned to you. She always thought she would see you this year, one last time. But she died a few months ago."

The man rubbed his sore shoulder. His eyes glistened with moisture. "She's really dead? It wasn't supposed to happen this way," he said. Nathan put the broken slate back into his pocket and shook his head with a look of disappointment in his glassy gaze.

"Excuse me?"

"She was either supposed to die in my arms, or she was supposed to come with me. According to the original file, Nathan was supposed to meet you at her funeral."

"You're Nathan, you sodding..." Keturah trailed off and stared at the man, eyebrows arched in confusion. "Mr. Carrington, Kerii died in _my_arms."

"I should have just stayed! We could have had thirteen years together! Why the hell didn't I stay?"

Keturah was at a loss for words.

"I was going to stay, but Reinhardt convinced me to try things a different way. God dammit!"

"I don't understand you!" Keturah erupted. Fire broke through the rooftop of the building behind them. "What are you talking about, Mr. Carrington?!"

"Kerii is supposed to be alive! I'm here, so where is she?"

"She died a few months ago. She was trying to hold out, but..." Keturah trailed off with a frown. "We became close after you disappeared in 1893. She attempted to help me find a sense of humanity, but when she passed ... I hated the world again."

Nathan sighed and ran his hands back through his hair.

Keturah narrowed her eyes. "You were selfish to have disappeared! What? You thought it would be fine to leave her? You thought you were some so-called brave soldier marrying his girlfriend before going off to die in a war, is that it? She stared at that photograph of you and her for years. The one of you two kissing at the Eiffel Tower."

"I didn't disappear, I ... it's complicated." He sighed softly. "We can't stay here, Karla. We'll freeze to death."

"My name is Keturah."

"Yeah, sorry. Keturah, then."

"And now that Clarence knows my name, he'll know how to find me again."

"Clarence? Niall's friend?"

"Who else?!"

"Did he give you your powers yet? I didn't mess that up did I? It's important."

"He gave me pain, and a bloody torch in the palm of me hand." She held her right hand out and tensed up. A muted glyph appeared beneath the skin of her hand. "See? It's useless!"

"No, it's not. You're the one who pushed that beam off my chest back in that room with the fire." Nathan looked at his left hand and frowned. After a moment, he looked back up and added, "I owe you my life, kiddo."

"I ... think we worked together to get that beam off yer chest, luv." She turned away from him and started walking. "We can figure this out. Do you have any money? I'm pretty sure we're in Switzerland or Germany. The periodical I found, it had the word 'Zurich' in the title. The words are all German, though." She started on an unpaved road. "We should follow this."

Nathan glanced down at tracks in the dirt. "These are fresh." He made his way after her. "If I may, when did Kerii pass?"

"She passed in my arms earlier this year. She ... really missed you."

Nathan sighed. He reached down and twisted his wedding band wantonly with a frown. "Did she tell you how we met?"

"She did. She fell hopelessly in love with you, Mr. Carrington. And then you up-and-left her."

"Look, if you're my sister-in-law..."

"Not anymore. The link of our relation passed away. I scraped together what money I could and I buried her." Keturah looked away. "I did not mean to interrupt you."

"I was going to say, call me by my first name." He offered his hand to her. "Nathanial."

There was a sadness in his eyes.

She shook his hand and pulled his jacket tight around herself. "Your vest is coming apart. It was burned from the fire." She investigated further, adding, "But you have not a mark upon you."

"It's complicated."

"Mm. You love to repeat yourself, don't you, Nathanial?"

He moved into step besides her and put his arm around her. "You're cold."

"I have your jacket."

"It's not a proper jacket," he said. "It's too cold, wherever we are." He glanced down at his shadow, noting where it stretched. "I think we only have another hour of sunlight. Ninety minutes at best."

"The building from where we came is rather warm," she said in a sarcastic tone.

Nathan licked his lips. "Okay, we need a plan."

"Excuse me?"

"We'll find a local morgue, find a blond girl who died, and take her back to the building we just came from. We'll burn her and leave her in the wreckage, so that Clarence believes you died in the fire. If you fake your death, no one will follow you."

Keturah arched her brows. "Tha's bloody well dark, now, innit?"

"You've a distorted view on ethical and responsible action, am I right?"

"Oi, I just pulled yer arse outta that bloody blaze, Nathan. Don't insult me."

"I wasn't. We need to do _something_to throw him off our trail."

"Forget the body snatching lot, gov - it'll never work. Besides, if Clarence looked at the body, he'd know it's not me. There is the matter of this." She held her hand up and tensed up.

Nathan stared at her glowing palm. "Right. You can't fake dental, and you can't fake technology grafted to your hands. Goddammit."

"You're difficult sort to follow, Nathanial."

"Sorry. Everything is so complicated right now, and I don't have the file anymore. Everything was written down, and I could have figured it all out. But then ... I get here and it's ... wrong."

She shrugged, not able to follow his references. "Look, you're just in shock. You nearly just died inna fire. You just found out yer wife passed. You're obviously mourning - it's in your eyes."

"Yeah..."

"Also," she said, "I cannae follow yer bit about some file or whatnot."

Nathan nodded, keeping his gaze on the ground. "For the sake of making this situation easy to follow, I had a list of notations made by ... well, an oracle. It said everything that would happen in the future. All I had to do was follow the instructions and make a few small changes. That way, the future would play out better."

"And it was wrong?"

"The part about Kerii ... God, I must have changed things by trying too hard to rewrite history - this is my fault. I need to find Raul."

"Raul?"

"Your uncle, Raul Sergio Poliandro."

"He's a bloody drunk, that one. Lazy; two sheets to the wind ... I haven't seen'em in ages, but Kerii said she seen'em after you went missing. She said he wouldn't help her. Blood git, that one."

Nathan sighed. Tears trickled down his cheeks.

"Oh, oh, wait now ... don't do tha'."

"Do what?"

"I hate seein' a man cry. It ain't natural. I can't stand it, mate. Chin up. I figured you'd both died. I'm just glad I'm not stranded in bloody Europe alone. I need 'ye to keep it together now. Can ya do tha' for me, Nathan?"

He swallowed a lump in his throat, as though swallowing down emotion. Nathan looked up at the sky, took a deep breath and sighed. "I was supposed to spend the rest of her life with her. If there really is a God, let me be the first to say ... He sucks right now."

"If God had 'imself a plan, He ain't seen fit to make any good come from it, now did 'e?"

"I guess not, kiddo."

Keturah shook her head. "It's a shame. She missed you, Nathanial. She loved you. So much, that she left you all her possessions. Her home in San Francisco, her photo of the two of you at the Eiffel Tower, which she clutched in her hands when she passed away..." Keturah licked her lips and took an emotionally pained breath. "She left you her rings, and she left you a letter. I just wish you loved her enough to 'ave stayed, instead of going off to some..."

"I loved her!" he exclaimed.

"...War," Keturah added.

Silence.

Nathan licked his lips. "Sorry I shouted at you."

She returned to her American dialect, trying to make it stick. The more she heard him speaking, the easier it was to copy. "No, it's quite alright. The fact your outburst was so impassioned regarding my sister ... that was a welcome response, coming from her widower." Keturah sighed. "She was a lonely wife, Nathanial. I never understood why you left her, but she defended your decision vehemently."

"I was thinking about staying. I should've."

"If the files left to you by the oracle are wrong, then are you sure you should follow them?"

"It doesn't matter. The tablet is broken."

"I dunnae under-" she licked her lips and rephrased herself. "...I really don't understand, Nathanial."

"I can't read the files anymore. They're lost. I'm flying by the seat of my pants now, kiddo."

They continued walking together.

Keturah shrugged, resting her face against his shoulder for warmth. "Doesn't matter, now does it? They were wrong. You said so yourself. The future cannot be written on some stone tablet - that is to say, the future is not written in stone. Seems a bit on the nose to have such a figurative saying happen in such a literal way."

"The tablet wasn't made out of..." He trailed off and shook his head with a weak chuckle. "It doesn't matter. It might as well be stone. This thing in my pocket isn't anything but a paperweight, now."

"Why is it your responsibility to change the future? Your oracle is obviously an idiot."

"Because the future doesn't turn out very good, Kar - er, Keturah. I was going to change things and make it all better."

"Well."

"Pardon?"

"Your grammar is in need of work," she said. "You speak like a child - things turn out well, but they do not turn out 'good.' Listen, Nathanial, if you think you know the outcome of the future, then it is your duty to change everything and make the world a better place."

"How can I?"

She buried her face against his shoulder to hide from the wind "Or, you simply watch it turn to hell, as I have."

Nathan stared at the dirt road. "I need some time to figure things out, kiddo. All the bullshit that's happened - or, rather, I should say the bullshit that will happen..." He trailed off.

"Why did you leave her?"

"I didn't intended it!" He teared up. He used his free hand to protect his eyes from the cold. "Keturah, you and I are friends in the future. You meet the love of your life one day. There are things I want to preserve, like the love you have for this kid you fall in love with. But there are things that happened, which lead to a lot of bad things in the future, like a lot of people dying. Those are the things I need to change. Now my notes - the list of things that I had to change ... my notes were lost in that fire."

Keturah swallowed. She didn't want to feel guilty. There's no way she could have known. "How the hell did you wind up in there anyhow? Did you fall through the ceiling? Did they have you prisoner, too?"

"The very last thing I remember was kissing Kerii's hand, standing beside her."

"Christ, Jesus. You have amnesia now? You don't remember leaving her for the war? You don't remember anything from 1893 until now?!"

Nathan sighed and ran his hands through his hair. "It's complicated. Look, I remember stuff, okay? I stepped into Nikola's energy field. Suddenly, I'm standing next to the _same_damn machine, but there's fire all around it. The ceiling collapsed, and that wood beam pinned me to the ground. Add to that, it's apparently not summer anymore, and now you're telling me I'm in Europe?"

"That same machine? It's been here since 1893?"

Nathan shrugged. "That machine was in New York, back in 1893. Nikola built the damn thing in New York. But it was the same machine I just saw when you rescued me from the fire. It was identical."

"I'm cold," she muttered.

Nathan moved in front of her. He knelt down.

Keturah came to a stop and blinked. "What?"

"I'll carry you on my back. We'll keep each other warm. You keep that coat on to protect your back."

Keturah scoffed. She stared at him. "You would carry me like a child?"

"Do you have a better idea?"

She reluctantly put her arms around Nathan's neck and eased her weight onto his back.

He stood up. He reached for her ankles and held onto them. Her knees rested on either side of his waist.

Nathanial carried her down the cold dusty road. After a moment, he said, "Well, at least it isn't snowing."

She looked up but the sky was clear. "You're a brave man to tempt fate."

"Fuck fate," he said. "I thought I would see Kerii again because of some words on a stupid tablet. Well, it was wrong. How can fate be wrong? So I tried changing things so I could see her, and now I messed that up, too. But, no matter how you look at it, things happened differently than the file said they would."

"And that means what?"

"It means ... if things can change, so can I. I'll do everything different. To hell with the 'great plan.' To hell with 'fate.' It doesn't exist, kiddo. Everything is freewill."

"Is it?"

"Yeah." Nathan sighed again. "But now I realize that certain actions will have serious consequences. If I make too sudden of a change, I'll mess things up."

Keturah stayed quiet.

"Your sister was either supposed to go with me, or she was supposed to die after I see her ... in 1906. I tried too hard to change things, and it backfired. Now she passed away before I got to see her. That ... I don't know how I'm going to be able to live with myself."

Keturah frowned. She decided to change the direction of the conversation. "What were you calling me earlier?"

"What?"

"You called me by a different name, earlier. What was it?"

"Karla. That ... was a mistake. Sorry."

"Sorry indeed," she murmured.

"You, uh ... you just look like a 'Karla.' Okay?"

"Do I now..."

Carrington chuckled. "That's 'Karla' with a 'k'." He sighed. "The oracle said you change your name to Karla in the near future."

"Oh, do I now? To keep Clarence from finding me, I suppose?"

"Maybe so."

"I'm not rushing into changing anything yet. I like who I am, and I hate everyone else." She rested her chin on his head and sighed. "You make a fine horse, Nathanial Carrington."

"Yeah? Well, you make a good jockey."

She scoffed in amusement. "I wish she could have met you just one last time. She would have liked that."

"I'll grieve later on. Right now, let's just find the nearest town."

"What of your elusive future? The notes left to you by this ... oracle friend - what will you do now?"

"It's kind of hard to change things when I'm stuck here."

"We will find our way out of Europe."

"I didn't mean Europe." He gave her shin a pat. "Never mind, kiddo. It's complicated and I don't know how to explain things. It's clear to me, now, that I was never destined to get back to where I was trying to go in the first place. So I need to make the best of things and start over. First thing's first - I need to find Eli Thomas Parker."

"You think a thirteen year old boy can help you?"

"Shit, that's right. It's been quite a few years ... no, I need his father."

Keturah shook her head and ruffled Nathan's hair. "No, no ... Eli Thomas Senior had a tough life these last few years. He barely survived Yellow Fever, but he couldn't survive the storm."

"What? What happened?"

"Eli took his son and his pregnant wife to some remote island. Not sure where, or why he chose that location, but he took his son to train the boy in how to become a 'proper Parker.' When they were returning to California, a storm in the Pacific damaged their yacht."

"I'm listening."

"Eli Senior was killed steering the ship in the storm. He was swept out to sea. The vessel didn't sink, but it went off course. Eli Junior and his mother made it to some strange little island. The way the kid tells it, there was nothing but sheep and strange statues. Giant faces that lined the beach. Maybe they were giant statues that were buried up to their shoulders. He said they had strange, elongated faces. Ever heard of a place like that?"

"Easter island. So Eli was killed; his wife and kid were marooned? I mean, Jesus, that's ... intense. What happened to them?"

"The kid had to grow a pair of stones," she said with a shrug. "They got their bearings, traded a few trinkets made of metal and gems to the rather small native population. They stocked up on food, and headed east." Keturah stretched a bit and rested her chin on Nathan's head again.

"Jesus."

Keturah nodded, keeping her chin on Nathan's head. "They had no idea where they were until they were picked up by a dreadnaught off the coast of Chile."

"I take it they negotiated with money?"

"Ah, wonderful, you _are_smart," Keturah said with a playful smirk. "They arranged transport up the coast until they made it home to California. Money goes a long way when you have gold coins and you know how to defend them. Anyway, Eli is turning fourteen years old soon. Handsome kid, but not my type."

As she continued to talk, she could feel Nathan relax. The tension in his shoulders began to fade.

"I already miss my wife."

Keturah swallowed. "You're ... going to be alright, Nathanial."

"Yeah..."

"I'm sorry about Kerii. I miss her, too. She's one of the only two people I trusted."

"Who is the other?"

"Gerard, but I haven't seen him much since he moved to San Jose. He's courting another man named ... Ethan, if I recall properly. Ethan Sandusky."

"Ethan huh? That name sounds familiar for some reason."

She shrugged in reply. "I miss Gerard, and I miss his heroin and opium."

"Jesus, kid. Stay away from that stuff."

"You know, I receive enough judgment from others in regards to how I enjoy living my life."

"I don't care what anyone else may think about you," said Nathan. "But I do care about your health."

"Whatever. I am rather dandy. You are the one who is moping while carrying a woman on his back."

"I'm just thinking about being stuck here."

"Go on," she goaded. "Explain."

"All the things that are going to happen. I don't want to deal with it. I just want to go back to where I belong. I want to live my life."

"Your drugs must be better than my own."

"I'm serious, Karla. The First World War. The Spanish Flu. The Great Depression. The Second World War. The world is a serious roller coaster, and I'm not looking forward to it."

She rolled her eyes at being called the wrong name again. "You should consider a second opinion. While you're at it, you should try to remember my name. It isn't that difficult. I was named after Abraham's sixth wife, a succubus concubine. A fit name for the fittest succubus."

"Excuse me?" He leaned forward and hopped, causing her to shift her weight, so that she wasn't sagging slowly down his back. "A second opinion of what?"

Keturah shifted her own weight, perching herself with her arms around his neck. "The oracle who told you about the future, Nathanial. Speak to at least two more seers. If a doctor told you that you were dying, would you settle for his opinion? I would seek out the opinion of two others."

"Will you help me?"

She scoffed. "No. I'm the oldest succubus alive, and I won't be that way for much longer. I have neither the time nor the inclination to become embroiled in the world before it ends. I will not live to see the next Great Flood, nor should I care. To hell with the world."

"If I can convince you otherwise, will you help me?"

"Will you continue calling me 'Karla' instead of Keturah? Take a moment to learn my name properly. You, Nathanial, must deign to change first."

"I know what you're capable of. I know what you become when you put your mind to it."

"Whoever told you I'm capable of something ... they were seriously misinformed. It seems to me that your oracle, the one from whom you received your information, is in need of retirement."

Nathan shook his head. "Jesus..."

"What?"

"It just hit me..."

"What?"

"I can't believe I'm him. I've always been him. All along, it's been me - I'm the one who keeps you out of trouble."

"Again, your drugs are better than mine," she said with a grin.

"I'm Nathan Carrington. I always was, I just didn't figure it out until now. I was always destined to become him."

She rolled her eyes with a scoff of amusement. "You are a strange man. They have a cure for men like yourself - doctors call it a lobotomy."

"Heh. Always be you, Karla. Never stop being you, got it?"

"Keturah."

"Whatever." He continued carrying her down the dirt road into Munich. "Let's find out where we're at, and then we'll get back to California. Where are you living, there?"

"I don't have a home, Nathanial. I've bounced about San Francisco for a number of years, but I live with call girls, or make short stays with lovers who take me in for a few weeks at a time. I heard from my sister to stay away from California until after this year, though. Thank God I had clarity of mind to listen."

"So it happened, huh? The quake?"

"it was one hell of a way to bring in Spring. I was in DC for a while, but I have no actual home. Kerii's house is a burnt pile of rubble."

Nathan sighed. He looked down at the wedding ring on his left hand. "So let's get a place together. Separate bedrooms. You do whatever you want on your side of the house, I'll do whatever I want on my side."

"You're serious?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"You really want to get a place together? With me?"

"We're friends."

"You don't even know me, Nathanial."

"I know what you're capable of. I know what kind of person you become." He trailed off for a moment then smiled up at her.

"You are a strange man."

"Let's just say I have a gift for knowing people. I think we'll make great friends. There's just one condition."

"Yeah? What's that?"

"We need to get you cleaned up."

"What? You don't like the way I look or dress?"

"No, I mean the drugs."

"Nathanial..."

"You said you had cocaine recently, didn't you?"

"Yeah so?"

"Do you have anymore?"

"What business is it of yours?"

"Give it to me."

"Nathanial..."

"No excuses. Give me the coke."

"Fine." She fished the drugs from her shirt and handed him the pouch of lumpy ground powder.

He opened it and rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger. "I used to work vice before I became a homicide inspector. This stuff is dangerous."

"Then why was it in food and drinks? It can't be that dangerous."

"I'd rather you stop cold turkey, but that would be hard on your heart. We'll have to wean you off. No backsliding, Karla. Once you're off these drugs, you're done forever."

"Keturah."

"Whatever."

"Just keep walking, Nathan." She looked up at the town ahead. "I think I know just enough of the language to read that sign."

"Where are we?"

"The Kingdom of Bavaria."

Nathan shrugged. "I've always wanted to try Bavarian Crème."

"That's a _French_dessert, you uncultured git."

"I know this is going to sound ignorant, but I have no idea where the Kingdom of Bavaria is."

"North of Switzerland and the Austrian Empire. Germany unified a few decades ago, and we're in the Kingdom of Bavaria. Think of it like a state. Instead of a president, Germany and its states have an emperor."

"You're a smart girl."

"Mm-hmm. We're apparently in the capital, Munich. We also have one very big problem. I don't speak the native language. I only know a few words."

"Well, I know you speak French and Spanish."

Keturah leaned down over his left shoulder, close to his face. "How did you know that?"

"Because ... your sister told me."

"Ah. Well, I suppose someone here will speak French. It's only a matter of time before we find a translator and find our way back to California. How do you expect to pay for it?"

"We'll make our way to England. I'll look for the Pendleton family in ... I think he said Manchester."

"He who?"

"Eli Thomas Parker told me the Pendleton family split. The trustworthy ones live in Manchester. They'll get us to California. All we have to do is get to England." Nathan cleared his throat. "We could sell the drugs to make money."

"Not enough for fare to bloody England. Besides, you said I'll need those for later. You said you're weaning me off." Really, she just didn't want him to sell her cocaine.

"Right..."

"I'll find money. I know how people work, no matter the language barrier."

"You're not whoring yourself out. You're above that."

"We're in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by people who speak no English. Those who do speak another language likely speak French, some sort of Scandinavian, or a Slavic language."

"Your point?"

Keturah shrugged. "Men are men, no matter where you go in the world. Let me find a wealthy single man looking for company. I'll have us in England in no time."

"I'm going to regret this, aren't I? You're smarter than this - you're well read, I know you are."

"I don't need to know the work of Nietzsche to understand that a German man, like any other man, wants a pretty girl on his arm. And for the record, yes, I've read Nietzsche, although it was translated to French."

Nathan shook his head with a weary smile. "I just realized something."

"Yes, Nathanial?"

"I'm going to die on my back near the Sausalito Vortac Tower. But at least I'm going to die with my boots on."

"What? Speak again without the enigma of the riddles and parables, Nathanial. Speak concisely."

"You want me to be blunt? Fine. I'm Nathanial Carrington. I'm going to live at least another one hundred seventeen years. I always thought my ability was passed on to me, but ... I was born with it. I had it within me all along. I guess I was a late bloomer, but ... thank God I'm a quick study, because I need to be my best to play my part."

"Your part?"

"I guess it was fate all along. Raul suggested I need to make small changes in small increments, in order to have any real impact at all. That means I've been in some sort of goddamn bullshit loop. God, this is a lot to swallow. Who knew I was always Nathanial...? Who knew I witness myself die in 2023? Jesus Christ, this is ... this is bullshit."

Keturah stayed quiet.

"So, yeah, it's clear as a bell now: I'm not stuck here. I've always done this. Nathanial Carrington has always done this. I just ... this was my destiny all along. This isn't the past, it's actually my future. And you know what else?"

"You need that lobotomy now?"

"I'm going to change the world, Karla. We are going to change the world. It doesn't have to happen like it did last time. We can make things better."

"Keturah."

"Whatever."

She smiled and slid down from his back. She dropped to the street as they continued into the heart of Munich together. Keturah came alongside of him and took his right hand. "My sister loved you, Nathanial. So I'm going to try and do my best to trust you, okay? But if you ever betray me ... or if you ever just up and leave me like you did to her..." Keturah shook her head. "I hold grudges."

Nathan gave her hand a squeeze. "I've got your back, kiddo. I promise. I'm not going anywhere for a long, long time. And if we play our cards right, I'll die of old age instead of lying in a field, wounded."

"You should know I'm going to die any time now from old age, Nathanial."

"No you're not."

"I'm not?"

"It's time to stop living day-to-day with that cavalier attitude of yours." Nathan gave her a slight smile. "You're capable of more than you realize. I realize, now, that I'm going to be right here, besides you, every step of the way. I just realized that this is my destiny. I'm going to be your friend for a very long time. I promise."

She looked into his eyes and felt a strange comfort in his confidence. "I have a feeling things are going to be complicated between us..."

"Why lie? They might be, but I'm telling you right now, the love of your life ... it isn't me."

"Oh yeah? You believe in that crap, too? You guys weren't married for very long."

"You'll see. Things may get complicated between us. No point in lying. But I have a feeling we'll always be friends, Karla."

The succubus pushed her canary blonde locks back, behind her ears, and shook her head. She sort of pitied him. He'd lost his wife; he missed the opportunity to see her again, yet he truly expected to do so. He was a bit strange but she also didn't want to be alone.

Deep down, she wanted to know more about the man that made her sister feel so ... happy. He was easy on the eyes, even if he was a bit strange. She reached up and patted the side of his face, softly. "It's Keturah."

Nathan grinned again. "Whatever."

X

X THE END

Act 1 Twilight of the Gods

...

TO BE CONTINUED...

...After I revise the first act. ;)

Thanks for reading.

Your readership is appreciated and highly valued to me.

We love you.

Kit & Khestra Karamak

<3

(AKA - Ken and Aimee Weaver)