I.
It was bad enough that he'd had to go into hiding because a dickless rich-boy bastard who had everything just handed to him thought he'd gotten the better of him. Insult to injury was leaving him to rot in his own decay, his own failing power. He needed a recharge from somewhere. He needed to suck someone dry, and when the need was greatest he wasn't sure if it was need or revenge that gave him the desire to have Caleb on his knees before him, begging to give it up.

He moved slower than the rest of them down the halls and across the quad when the bells went, an exaggerated swagger that hid a tendency to get out of breath too quickly. Between that and the arthritic clench to his hands he was becoming more and more infuriated by Caleb's betrayal, daily. That power should be his. He should be young, healthy, alive. Not decaying in his grave and yet still walking around.

He should be all kinds of things that he wasn't, and maybe if he thought about it it went beyond dying, not that he wanted to think that word, dying. Even decaying was better than that. But it went beyond that, it was him being on the outside when everyone else was in that stupid little club. It was him, the lone outsider, the straggler, being punished for something that some jackass did centuries ago. Growing up in terror, in fury, punished for something he'd never done. And now he was under a death sentence for someone else's crime and it wasn't his fault. Goddammit. It wasn't his fault.

His hands curled into fists. It hurt, but not as much as the fact that he was totally alone in the world and that burned him so bad. He wanted to pound Caleb into the dirt for that. It was all fucking Caleb's fault. Caleb and Pogue, who he'd loathed from the first dirty look the long-haired boy had given him. Pogue, who had everything he could have wanted. It made him stop, sharp points of pain stabbing into his chest and into his feet, pinning him there. He had to remember how to breathe and walk all over again. Goddamn them, anyway. All he ever wanted was to live. To keep going. Why the fuck would they deny him that? What was so wrong with that?

A familiar fall of blonde hair knocked into his shoulder and for the first crucial seconds he was too startled to receive her startled apology. She flashed him a smile and was one.

Class was forgotten as the students parted to give him a wide berth. The expression on his face was twisted, inhuman as his eyes flared up and started to slide to black. Power coiled in his fists until he unclenched them, wincing as they popped out loud. The fire corona was still around his pupils but that was less noticeable than black on black.

Sarah. It was? It couldn't be. It wasn't, she knew him, knew at least some of what he'd done, he was sure. Caleb was so damn honest he would have told her. Caleb could never have pulled something like this off. It took Chase Collins to lie. Something he'd picked up from his father. His real father.

He started walking again, straining to reach the blonde hair and streamlined figure, but most of the other students were in class now and she was probably with them. He had to struggle to keep up. A snarl curled his lip, hands clenching into fists and as he passed down the walk the bushes started to wither and die.

II.
History was taught by an old eccentric who enjoyed taking his classes outside when the weather was fine. Not that Chase minded, or even cared one way or the other. But the outdoors was a distraction to most of the rest of the class and today that meant giving him the opportunity to look for the blonde. He was pretty sure she was in this class. That blonde bitch who kept escaping him, who was around somewhere even if he couldn't catch her.

Not Sarah. But it was hard to think of her that way.

He surprised himself a little when he saw her, saw red, blood clouding his vision instead of black and power leaping to prickle the tips of his fingers. He wanted to choke the life out of her for escaping. Kill her, take her, leave her on Caleb's front door as a warning. He looked down so no one would see when his eyes finally went black. Least of all her. He wanted to be able to talk to her and he couldn't do that if she thought he was some kind of monster.

The teacher was lecturing about the history of spirituality. Buddhism, the Dao. Serenity, Chase thought, was all well and good when you had the luxury of time to contemplate your own navel. He neither had use nor need for serenity. Didn't even know why he was taking this dumb class, except that he needed an AP History for his college applications and this one looked like a snoozer. Maybe not for the blonde, though. Her voice cut through the air like church bells and drew his attention back.

"But if Krishna was so aware of his own mortality, shouldn't that..."

Hi eyes focused on her lips, how soft they looked. How they might feel. He barely heard her voice except how it intruded on his consciousness.

"... the death process ..."

Her face was longer than Sarah's, he notied. Just a little. Her hair was less well kept, her clothes more exotic. More California hippie than New Englander. She was more unusual looking, fingers too thin and eyes too large. The teacher loved her. Literally, Chase wondered? For a second he looked at the old man and saw his hands all over her body.

He'd been staring too long. The teacher was off and running again and she looked around before turning back to her notes. He didn't unfocus his eyes or turn his face away quick enough. She mouthed something at him that he didn't catch in a moment of brain-fogged stupor. One petal of a cherry blossom took a decade to fall to the grass and landed with a gong chime sound. When he blinked again she had turned away and he was angry at himself for being caught out. He had gotten sloppy. Been sloppy? No wonder Caleb had kicked his ass.

The bell rang, startling him again. This time he would not be sloppy. This time he would get the girl, and the power, and every other damn thing he wanted. She might not have been Sarah but if he had been fooled, Caleb would be too.

III.
Lunch time was a cacophony of sounds, metal clattering against metal and plastic on the tables and people chewing too loudly. As if that wasn't bad enough, half the time the only seat he could find away from people was either across from the windows that had a blinding view of the sun or by the heat lamps that kept what passed as food warm.

His biggest and best defense was to smile at everyone. Chatter with anyone who would talk to him. The freshmen and sophomores who hadn't yet learned to avoid him were amazed at his charm and wondered why they felt just a little bit uneasy when he left. He moved through the crowd with just a little bit of a jagged edge to the grace they had all gotten used to. His energy crackled through them, giving everyone just a little bit of a faster step afterwards. If they weren't just running away.

More than a bit of a jagged edge. A year ago, if someone had knocked into his elbow, he would have kept a good grip on his tray. This time it went crashing down with enough of a splash that he couldn't fix it with power. Everyone had seen that.

"You ought to be a little more careful where you're going." That smile again, that shark-toothed smile that could rip a man's throat out as soon as gleam at him. Caleb hadn't know what the hell that smile meant. Dumbass.

"Hey, man, I'm sorry." The kid couldn't have been much more than fourteen or fifteen. Not that Chase was far off from that, but it felt like it these days. "I'm sorry, here, let me..."

He grabbed the other boy's wrist. "I think you've done enough." Fingers pressed into the fleshy part between the bones.

"You're hurting..." he whispered, then realized it wasn't manly enough and stopped. "Hey, it's cool. It's..."

"It's cool because you say it is?"

"How about you just let it be cool, okay?"

That was a girl's voice. Chase looked over his shoulder, eyes wide and startled. Blonde hair. Dark eyes.

His fingers unclenched themselves. "Yeah, man, sorry about that." Three hands picked up the spilled lunch quickly, dumped it back on the tray. "It's cool."

They had gathered a crowd, too. He wasn't sure why he was surprised by that, looking around at them as though this was some kind of joke. Hidden cameras popping out from somewhere, a laugh track playing in the background at his expense. No one else in the cafeteria noticed. The students went about their business as usual, and the blonde girl was starting to stare.

"What?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. Here, let me get you another lunch..."

"I'm fine," he almost snapped, shaking her hand off his arm. "I can get my own damn lunch."

Eyes between his shoulders as he got back in line, got the food that was warm by now only by the grace of modern technology. He didn't have much of an appetite, it had been worn too far away by curiosity and bile. There was a burning desire to know who she was and what the hell was going on, along with the resurging fury at his temper being thwarted. It was cool. He'd get his. And she didn't even have to know.

The boy's foot slipped out from under him on a patch of spilled milk. No use crying, but the snap of his wrist as he put his hand out behind him to break his fall, wound up breaking something else, now that was worth a scream. And more than a few tears. Two of the cafeteria ladies scurried forward babbling something while a crowd of vultures gathered in the empty space around him. For once, Chase got a table in the shade and the quiet. He smiled, biting into the apple and feeling the juice run gleefully down his chin.

IV.
He spent the next couple of weeks watching her after that, curious what sort of girl would stand up to him. His reputation in the school was a far cry from the malicious, powerful bastard he probably was to Spenser students by now, but even so he wasn't the sort of person a girl approached. At least, he hadn't thought he'd been.

But now that he was watching her he wondered if she was the sort of girl that a boy would approach, after all. She spoke up in class and the teachers seemed to favor her, but none of the students paid her any attention. When they spoke to her they were polite, distant, and ended the conversation as soon as they could without making it obvious that they were running away. He watched as the flicker of pain crossed her face before she turned away as well.

And that was another remarkable thing. Everything she felt seemed to cross her face as though she didn't need to keep her thoughts or feelings a secret. As though she had nothing to hide. In a high school, especially a boarding school, that was unthinkable. Unheard of. For Chase, it was amazing. It was a buffet of possibilities, each one more delightful than the last, until at the end of two weeks he was practically drooling to approach her, seduce her, and break her. She was so damn easy.

Didn't mean he wasn't going to be careful. Didn't mean he wasn't going to take his time.

She dressed different and acted different from the other students, that was probably what was unnerving her. Most of the time, girls as well as guys although they made more of a fuss about the girls, people hid their intelligence in school. Hid it or used it as a weapon, she didn't seem to do either. She just said what she thought, the same way she let it out in her expression and body language. Which wasn't to say that she said what she was thinking as she thought it, if circumstances required it she would pause to reflect as long as she felt she needed to on what she was going to say. And then she would say it. He'd seen her come out with some amazingly politic speeches that way.

Her clothes were almost Victorian the way they covered everything. Ankles, wrists, stomach. Mostly skirts, sometimes pants. Never jeans. Weeks later, he didn't think he'd ever seen her in jeans. Long-sleeved shirts or jackets over sundresses, covering her wrists like a self-mutilator. Like an attempted suicide. That couldn't have helped make anyone else easy around her. All she needed was a green scarf around her neck and she'd be a picture perfect urban legend.

The day he thought that was the day she noticed him watching her. Nothing special, she just turned around one day and caught him looking, and her eyes narrowed. He'd been caught.

The next day he contrived to pick a fight with someone while she was nearby, just to see if she'd rush to the rescue. She took longer about it this time than she had the first time, watching from beneath a cloud of gold to see what he'd do. He was even more surly towards her than he had been the first time they'd spoken. She went away hurting, if not crying.

God, she was so easy. So damn easy, he was laughing as he walked back to the dorms at the end of the day. So damn easy. He'd break her and leave her on Caleb's doorstep like a cat.

Or maybe not. Chase stopped in the doorway, one fist on the frame, and scowled. It wasn't Sarah. He'd gotten carried away and believed that it was but it wasn't Sarah. Wasn't her. This was just revenge, pure and simple. Not so pure, and not so simple. Was it really worth it?

Hell. He might as well get some amusement value out of her now that he'd started.

V.
"Sorry."

She looked up at him like she didn't know what he was talking about. He plonked down next to her at the table, a furtive smile on his handsome face. "I really am sorry," he continued. "About the past couple of weeks. It's just that this is the second school I've been to this year. Third in the past three. It's getting old."

They stared at each other across the table for a few seconds while the world moved around them, leaving trails of color and light in the air. Speed up, slow down, speed up again. Disdain flickered over her face, then intrigue, and finally a trace of pity.

"I'm sorry, too." She stuck out her hand. "Ginny MacAdams."

"Chase." He smiled when he shook her hand and tried not to snap at her for the pity. "Collins."

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Chase Collins." And it was.

She was one of those who thought he was cute and sophisticated, he realized. And again, he was reminded of Sarah. But the conversation had run out of natural segues and now they were reduced to poking at their food and giving each other shy, surreptitious glances.

"What school?"

He blinked. "Scuse me?"

"What school did you transfer in from?"

Oh. "Oh! Spenser Academy, up in Massachusetts." He shrugged. "I was there for a couple of weeks. Two kids got killed, the 'family' thought I should move." He used air quotes but didn't elaborate. Draw her in. Make her curious.

"Might have been a good idea," she smiled a little and ducked behind her hair for a second, a nice counterpoint to the hand that was now on his arm. He couldn't tell what she meant by the gesture, and she moved it away too quickly for him to tell. "Don't want to stay in a school where you aren't safe."

"Yeah, I guess."

There was something in his voice, but just a little thing, he didn't know how she heard it. "I'm sorry," she said, pulling further back from him, sliding along the side of the table. "I shouldn't have done that."

"Done what?"

Her eyes widened when they caught his, and his fingers curled tight on his knee, digging into flesh beneath jeans. Triumph flared, putting just a little twist on the shy smile he showed her. The bare fraction of an inch of lowered lashes over eyes he knew to be an advantage, and her lips were parting for a soft exhalation. She was gone. She'd been done when he'd sat down next to her, and she was twice as done now.

"You want to go catch a movie this weekend?" he asked. Her head jerked a little, as though she'd had to pull herself out of a dream. "I know this great little sushi place, if you're interested."

"Yeah... Sure. Yeah, I'd like... I like sushi."

"Me too." She was panting and trying to hide it. It was great. "Pick you up around six? Where are you..."

"Greer. Second floor, I'll meet you in the lounge?"

Okay, so she didn't feel comfortable enough getting him to her door. That was cool. He had time, and anyway if he got there early enough he could see what door she came out of. It was all good.

"Sure." There was only a second between acquiescence and smiles. "Cool."

It was.

VI.
Days passed in a blur. She liked sushi, and he took her to her first rave, and her skirts twirled around her legs high enough to show off her ankles, which made her blush. He laughed because it was such an old maid thing to do. She had pretty ankles.

He asked her why she always wore such concealing clothes and she didn't have a reason although she did have an answer, a shrug and saying that it was just habit from her mother and her grandmother. They were both very traditional, very correct, although they had never tried to restrict her in any way. But she didn't want to disappoint them. She said it with such earnestness that he almost had to believe her. And it explained why she didn't drink.

Ginny MacAdams. Her first taste of alcohol had been from his cup, and they both laughed when she gagged a little at the taste of it. Beer wasn't her thing.

Wine was, though. When the rave didn't work he took her out to a balcony anteroom at a theatre and offered her a pavestone picnic of wine, fruit, crackers, cheese. It was only the second time he'd seen her look at him like that, eyes wide and lips parted and breathy. She tasted of wine and cheese. It was softer than anything he'd ever done before. It was something Caleb would have done.

After that it was almost easy. He wasn't looking to get up her skirt, and she wasn't prepared to defend herself against someone who didn't want what all the guys wanted. He was looking to get in her heart, in her head, that was where the juicy stuff was. A little vulnerability here, a little strength there.

He almost laughed out loud when she told him she was a witch. Showed him her pentagram and everything, two moons for the Goddess symbol, she said. And a circle for the full moon. He nodded and pretended like he knew what it meant. She didn't have any power, only first born sons had the power, but it didn't matter. She had everything he was after.

Ginny wasn't Sarah, but she was close enough. She didn't have Sarah's modern-day fire, but she had something else. Something quieter, passive. Something he could easily imagine in Caleb's arms, dancing. It was close enough revenge and she made it so easy to pull her in. To protect her, and turn around and destroy her. He just had to wait. In the meantime, he could enjoy.

They kissed under the rain before bed, when she ran up the stairs laughing and looking over her shoulder. He leaned over her and corrected her history homework, dates and figures, one arm around her shoulders. She lined up the numbers in rows and columns for him and walked him through the equations until they made sense. They held hands at the movies, at the occasional play, walking through the park and talking about anything in the world. He sank so deep into normality that he almost forgot what he was doing with her.

She was half asleep on his chest with his fingers sliding through her hair when he asked her about Senior Prom. This time she didn't even stop to think before murmuring, of course. Of course she'd go with him. He smiled, and let her fall back asleep.

VII.
Senior Prom came with a surge of excitement that passed around them both. She seemed almost untouchable by the fluttering of all the other girls, what they would wear, who they were going with, as though such decisions had been made a long time ago and she was only now carrying them out. It was a bit disconcerting. He didn't want to be responsible for her hopes and dreams, or hear about it if he shattered them.

She laughed, once, when he looked at her with that thought in his mind and told her that she wasn't as concerned about the details as the rest of her year. She just wanted to have a good time, whether or not her dress was in the latest fashion and what sort of hairpiece to wear or what kind of corsage he would get her. It was a little uncanny how she had anticipated his thought. Nonsense, she said, he had that same terrified look that a lot of boys got when their girlfriends made unreasonable demands. Just because she was different didn't mean she didn't watch.

Underneath that was a warning. Too long with her and he was becoming complacent, becoming at ease. Just because she was different didn't mean she was stupid. He'd have to watch out for himself.

They went to the Prom arm in arm, traditional, like a real couple. She looked beautiful in her dress, white, cut like something classic from the turn of the century. He'd said so when he'd picked her up at her door, after everyone had already left, before they'd gotten there. He'd take her out for sushi later. He knew where there was a place open late.

No one had expected her to show up, from the expressions on their faces. No one expected her to have a high chin and a posture that said she was enjoying herself, and to hell with whatever anyone else thought. To have a smile that was bright and genuinely cheerful. He almost admired her a little for that, for being the subtle class pariah or at least the quiet weirdo and not caring. Maybe it helped that she was in love with him. He didn't know, couldn't understand that part of it. It didn't make much different to him. They were all sheep.

He took her out to the floor and danced with her to the songs they could dance to, spinning and whirling on the floor, caught in their own little bubble in time. She had a pretty smile and her hair fell golden over her shoulders. He wanted to bunch it up in his fists.

Afterwards they went to that little restaurant she knew and talked about it, laughing. She didn't make fun of the other kids, the way some of the guys had gotten trashed or some of the comments the other girls had made. He'd caught a couple guys staring at her in ways that would make their girlfriends take revenge later. She either hadn't noticed or didn't comment.

He asked her about that, if it was an ugly duckling moment. She said it was kind of like a charitable act, her being so confident in herself that most of high school couldn't touch her, acting how she wanted to and being unrestrained so that the rest of the school had someone to look down on. She had her eyes towards her sushi at that point, making sure none of the soy sauce or ginger got on her dress, so she didn't see the look on his face. It was better that way.

It was past her bedtime, but he convinced her to come with him out to the gazebo on the campus. Just to hang out for a bit, because he didn't want the evening to end. True, as far as that went. He had plans for her on this night of all nights.

VIII.
It started with a kiss. It suited him to start with a kiss, wasn't that usually the way fairy stories and all that bullshit went? Always a kiss.

She was warm in his arms, a nice contrast to the cooler spring air, and her dress was as soft as her skin. His hands cupped her face, cupped her shoulders, and slid downwards.

"Mm..." she stopped, turning her head a moment with a small smile. He'd never really pushed before this, only indicated once or twice. "No, please. Not tonight."

It was a casual kind of brush-off. The kind that had gotten used to him being a gentleman. Idiot.

"Aww, why not?" Now the underneath-Chase was out, the dark Chase, the little bastard who'd killed his father and his step-father and threatened to rape her doppelganger. Maybe not that close, but still. "You can't be that shy."

She did draw back, startled at his voice. Something in her eyes looked like hurt, pain, surprise. "Chase..."

"Come on," he grabbed her by the shoulders, kissed his way down her neck. "You've been panting for it since..."

Since when? He didn't get to say, not when her pointed fingers came up and sharply into his throat, making him choke on his words. The hell? Where had she learned that, some martial arts movie? It startled him enough to let go, and they both drew back from each other.

Her stare was flat, and unfriendly.

"What the hell, Gin?" he rasped, his voice still struggling to be heard.

"I was wondering when you'd try something," she said. "I didn't think it would be so soon. Chase Collins, Chase Godwin, Chase the hunter. The great white hunter. You're a fool, Chase."

Godwin?

"What are you talking about?" Except he kind of worried that if she knew about that then she knew about the other, and if she knew about the other and she called herself a witch.

No way.

"Catching on, are you? I heard about you, but not from your brethren. Corrupted bloodlines. That's why they were thrown out, you know, why they had to keep quiet. Not because of any superstition. They were corrupted and cursed and no one wanted that kind of thing rubbing off."

This was a piece of history that he would have paid for with a great deal, especially if he could go back and throw it in Caleb's face. He knew more than the bastard did. If it was true. If it was telling the truth, and he wasn't sure she was. He was on his guard now, scooted back against one of the posts, staring at her like he was just meeting her for the first time. In the space of two minutes they'd gone from cute dating couple to warrior witches on opposite sides.

And she'd stopped talking. She was watching him.

"You don't know a damn thing about it," he said, and he sounded angry, but it was all a trick to get her to talk. She smiled, and it wasn't mean, it was sad.

"I doubt you do. It's been a few hundred years, and you were kicked out of the outcasts. That has to sting, doesn't it, Chase?"

He watched her slip off the bench, move towards the gate as though she would leave. She didn't look like she had leaving on her mind, though.

"It won't rub off, people make their own choices. I don't believe it passes down in the blood, either. But you've made some very bad choices, Chase. And you're going to have to stand for them, whether you like it or not."

There. Those words. Those were dangerous words and he called energy to match them, feeling his eyes burn to black as his fists clench. "You don't know what you're talking about."

One stomp of a tiny foot flattened him to the floor, chest down.

"I do. Sadly."

She crouched down by him. He could see her white-clad knee, her slippered foot. Her chin. Her fingers, as they reached towards his face, and he bit at them.

"You've broken a lot of rules, Chase. That's going to come around to haunt you in the end. Always does."

The pain started with burning. With the world closing in on him and the sound of metal shrieking against metal, tires exploding. There was screaming and a sensation of panic, not for him, but for those around him. The protective instinct of a true father. He burned to death, not once, but twice. And then he kept on burning.

IX.
When he woke up he was alone, and there was moisture on his face and he was staring at the blurry roof of the gazebo.

Every muscle, joint, and bone in his body ached. His toenails ached. His hair ached. He had the taste of bile in his mouth and half-digested sushi. He could feel dried tears on his cheeks. His fingers curled, clenched, and flexed again, and curled back to an at-rest position, fascinated in a detached and angry way with how the muscles worked in his hands. It was also an expenditure of the only energy he had left. So he lay there for about an hour more.

Why hadn't anyone come looking for him? Hell, no one cared, who was he kidding. After a little he was able to roll over and push himself to his knees. He couldn't remember what had happened to him.

No, that wasn't true either. He remembered everything.

He had been screaming, and she had screamed too. Not as much. Whatever she'd done hadn't been as painful for her. All his past sins coming back to haunt him, she'd said. That's the way the wheel turns. And the wheel keeps on turning, so remember this for next time. It had hurt her, not as much as it was hurting him, but because she'd done it. But she had had enough energy to limp away, to walk away. And he couldn't.

He would have screamed if he'd had the strength. That was the difference between them, between whatever kind of witch she was (he wasn't laughing now) and what he did. She could walk away. She could walk towards, and he couldn't. There was no going towards anything for him. He was dying and she'd probably carved away a few more years of his life with that little stunt.

A few minutes or hours later and he did scream, pushing himself to his knees. And screaming, hoarsely and weakly, because he didn't know what she had done to him. Because he didn't know what he wanted, except to live. It hurt, everything hurt, and she'd carved off more pieces of him that didn't know about the consequences and didn't care to, rubbed his nose in it like a bad puppy. And then left him. In the rain, in the mud. Screaming.

Go to the top! For you have reached the bottom.