Chapter 10

Olympian Club

Fet enters the kitchen in the morning, expecting to find Petey and her patient still in there – but it's empty, and everything's been cleaned up, like nothing ever happened. Even the chair that Petey had been sleeping in is gone, moved back to its place in the lounge. Making a face, Fet goes down the hall to Petey's room and knocks on the door.

"Pete! You decent?" he calls – but there's no reply. He knocks louder, and tries the door, which isn't locked, so he pushes it open slowly. "Pete?" he calls again, as he pokes his head in. He doesn't see anything, so he opens the door wider to look around. Everything's quiet, and the only thing he does see is a mountain of mussed blankets and pillows on the bed.

Fet walks around to the head of the bed and finally sees her blue hair sticking out from under a pillow. He lifts it up and digs around under the blanket to find her shoulder, giving it a shake. "Hey…rise and shine, honey child," he says – gently, but loud enough to be heard. Petey doesn't move, so Fet shakes her again, harder this time.

Still nothing. Making a worried face, he pushes off all the blankets and sits down beside Petey, turning her over. She seems to weigh a ton, like she was made of stone. "Petey! Hey! C'mon, wake up!" he says, watching her chest rise and fall. At least she's breathing…but she's stone cold unconscious.

He's about to run and drag Eph out of bed when Petey suddenly gasps, her eyes flying open wide. She flails wildly as if she were drowning, and Fet has to corral her in his big arms to keep her still. "Whoa—whoa! Pete, it's okay!" he says, as she looks around, disoriented – and scared, which Fet notices more than anything else. He hugs her tighter and speaks quietly, to reassure her – like a parent to a frightened child.

"Hey, Petey-girl, bring it down a notch, okay? It's just a bad dream, is all. Just a bad dream. You're okay now…that's it…there you go…shhh…" he says, as her body relaxes and her breathing slows. Fet keeps her locked in his arms for a moment, swaying back and forth with her, just whispering a soothing "shhh" in her ear. Petey grabs onto his arms, settling into his protective embrace – needing the reassurance after everything she saw in her mind.

"What time is it?" she finally says, and Fet laughs.

"Oh! She speaks! She speaks, ladies and gentlemen! The dead have arisen!" he jokes, and she cracks up, smacking his arm.

"Shut up," she mutters, burying her face in his elbow.

"It's almost nine. You hungry?" he says.

"You kiddin'? I'm always hungry."

"Good. So get your ass up and get dressed."

"Right," she says, and he gets up, picking up the blankets he dropped on the floor and dumping them on her. She laughs again and tosses a pillow at him.

"Seriously…you okay? You kinda scared me there for a sec," Fet says, and Petey nods.

"Yeah, it just…" she starts, and then sighs. "…it was a long night."

"I can only imagine," Fet replies, heading for the door. "I'll make you some eggs. C'mon."

"Be right there," she says – and then suddenly realizes. "Fet," she calls, and he turns around.

"Thanks for putting me in bed. My neck would be totally fucked right now if you hadn't."

He makes a confused face. "Whaddaya mean? I didn't put you in here. I woke up in that goddamned chair an hour ago. Now my neck's totally fucked," he says. They both share a puzzled look – but before Fet can say anything, Setrakian's voice booms down the hall.

"Mister Fet!"

He sighs. "Duty calls. C'mon, get your shit together, I wanna eat before we head over to HQ."

"Yeah, yeah," Petey says, totally preoccupied now with trying to remember the last six hours or so. As soon as Fet shuts the door, Petey looks down at her arm and sees the puncture mark, still red and sore. She curses to herself, jumping out of the bed and stomping into the bathroom. Petey sticks her arm under the sink faucet and runs the water, washing the wound with soap. Then she splashes her face a bunch of times, until she looks like a drowned rat when she looks in the mirror.

Stupid…she thinks over and over, getting angrier with herself until the word becomes audible. "Stupid, stupid, stupid!" Then she stomps out of the bathroom and digs the EMS bag out, digging around in it for the bandages. She wraps some gauze around her arm and then dresses in a rush, tossing the EMS bag over her shoulder as she dashes out to join Fet and the others. She hears the clinking of dishes and the pleasant noise of conversation coming from the kitchen as she enters the hall – and she stops, suddenly panicked that she'll see Quinlan if she goes in there. She almost books for the elevator, but then her stomach rumbles and she feels the emptiness, needing to be filled. She smells eggs and ham cooking and coffee brewing and drool builds up in her mouth.

"Fuck."

She pushes open the kitchen door a touch, just to peek in – and the first thing she notices is that everything's been cleaned up. She sees the Professor at the table, stirring honey into a cup of tea. She sees Zach sitting next to him, eating cereal with almond milk from a box. She hears Fet and Eph – but no Quinlan. She makes a face, wondering where the hell he is if not in there. She slowly pushes the door open all the way, making her entrance – and all the guys look up at her.

"Hi," she says.

"Good morning," Professor motions to the chair across from him. Petey smiles at him and sits down, dumping the EMS bag on the floor.

"There she is," Eph says as he pours her a cup of coffee and pushes it at her. She takes it gratefully and then looks to Zach. "May I?" she asks, pointing at the almond milk. He pushes it to her and she dumps a bunch into the coffee.

"Eww, what're you doing to that perfectly good coffee?" Eph says, and she laughs, pushing the milk at him. "Try it," she says. He makes a face at her, but then does it, pouring in a glug-full. Then he stirs it and takes a sip – and then he looks at her with an impressed face.

"I'll be damned."

"I know, right? Usually I hate health food shit…but that shit works," she says, and then suddenly remembers Zach's sitting there. "Oops…sorry. Don't repeat that," she offers.

Zach just chuckles. "Kids in my class say way worse shit than that," he says, and Eph shoots a look at him.

"Yo!"

"Sorry."

Everything's quiet for a second, as everyone exchanges looks – then all at the same time, everyone cracks up. And then Fet starts serving up the eggs – everyone passes the plates around, and for a few glorious moments, it's like a family get-together. Everyone eats and talks and enjoys each other's company. Then as it inevitably must, quiet settles in and reality returns as Setrakian looks across the table at Petey.

"So…it seems your patient has made a successful recovery. Good work, Miss Petey."

She looks at him blankly for a second – and then she nods. "Yeah, well…he does most of the work himself."

Setrakian sips his tea and shakes his head. "Not this time. He said he most likely would have died had you not intervened."

"He said that? When?"

"Just a little while ago."

"Well, where is he now? I mean, last time I saw him he was still passed out on this table."

Setrakian narrows his eyes at her, unsure what's going on – but he's also not sure if he should really start grilling her in front of everyone, especially with Zach there. "Oh, well…you must understand that Mister Quinlan is–"

"A fuckin' asshole?" Fet interjects, without thinking – and Zach snickers as Eph rolls his eyes and punches Fet in the arm.

"I was going to say mercurial," Setrakian finishes.

Eph stands up, tugging on Zach's shirt. "Okay, buddy, we better hit it. Justine's gonna be furious if I don't deliver more toxin today. So you're gonna help me cook it up. Let's go, clear your dishes," he says, and Zach shovels another spoonful of cereal in his mouth before getting up.

"Bye, Professor," he says – and Setrakian can't help but grin at him. "Can I see the book when we come back?"

"Yes, of course. I'll see you later."

"Cool. Bye Fet…bye Petey," he says, and they both smile at him as he takes off after Eph out the door. Fet elbows Petey and they go about clearing the table.

"We better hit it too. We gotta fill Justine in on what happened, figure out the next step."

"Yes, that's the wise thing to do. I'll continue on with the Lumen with Mister Quinlan," Setrakian replies, giving Petey another inquisitive glance. She catches his eye and counters with a thin smile, then she follows Fet out the door.

Setrakian finishes his tea after they've gone, thinking – wondering what happened – knowing, in his gut, that something has happened. And as he tidies up the kitchen, he knows he's going to have to get some answers from Quinlan.

In a guest room a couple of floors up, Quinlan lays out the clean clothing that Setrakian found for him – items left behind by Club members in their lockers. He looks them over, actually finding himself grieving the loss of his old clothes. Not because they were especially valuable, but because he'd had them for so long. He allowed Setrakian to dispose of everything except the coat, which did have sentimental value. Even though it looked threadbare and shabby now, Quinlan still wanted to keep it. He couldn't exactly say why, though – except for the fact that it was what he wore when he first came to work for the Ancients and found the closest thing to a family he had ever had with the Sun Hunters, whose emblem they pinned on it. Even though his relationship with them and with the Ancients had deteriorated and was now tenuous at best, the pin and the coat reminded him of better times – when he felt like he belonged somewhere.

He dresses slowly, still not feeling quite back to normal. For the first time in a very long time, he feels his age, as he attempts to slide the new trousers on and every joint and muscle feels stiff, uncomfortable. He sighs at that, thinking what an impressive specimen he must look like at the moment. Before he puts the shirt on, he walks over to the mirror on the closet door and examines his wounds — not to mention Petey's excellent suturing work. The scars wouldn't look so bad thanks to her.

Petey.

He owes her now…big time, as the humans like to say. She let him feed on her, something Quinlan still can't quite believe actually happened. For a second he wonders if he imagined it, dreamt it maybe. But when he closes his eyes, he feels it – feels her. Petey's blood courses through his body now, continuing to heal it and bring it back to life. It shouldn't feel any different than any other person's blood, it shouldn't be more nourishing than anyone else's.

And yet it does feel different to him – better, somehow – which confuses him and excites him at the same time. He remembers that one loose lock of Petey's hair falling in his face. He traces the path with a finger, recalling the sensation of it – something he hadn't felt in ages, since his dearest Louisa – an electricity of sorts that sent a disturbing, thrilling shock through him. He doesn't like what he's feeling – or more accurately, he doesn't like that he likes it. But he can't deny that he wants nothing more than to be around Petey again.

Safe Streets Initiative HQ – Brooklyn

Fet walks into the HQ and stops dead when he sees the all-too-familiar face ahead of him. He blinks a couple of times, in case he's imagining it – but he's not.

"Shit…" he mutters, as Petey comes up behind him.

"What?" she says, following his gaze to the woman sitting at a table ahead of them, with a trio of laptops in front of her attached to a spaghetti-like mess of cabling running all over the floor. She's pretty in a grungy sort of way, her hair a disheveled array of shades of blonde with dark roots, and enough black eyeliner to make her look like a raccoon.

"Oh, don't tell me, your ex, right? You gonna introduce me?" she jokes, and Fet just looks at her with a mix of hurt and embarrassment.

"Don't be a dick," he says – and Petey instantly regrets it. "Sorry," she replies, and grabs onto his arm, nudging him affectionately.

"C'mon, we gotta see Justine," he says, walking forward – but then Dutch's unique accent cuts through.

"Ohmygod, Fet!" Dutch says, running up to him and throwing her arms around his neck, hugging him tight. Fet squeezes her back, but only for a second, before stepping back.

"Hey," he replies, gently – but there's no mistaking his tone or body language. Petey looks between them and then steps forward to save Fet from having to say anything else.

"Hi, I'm Petey," she says, offering a hand, which Dutch just cocks an eyebrow at. "I'm his sister," she then says – and Dutch's face takes on a whole different look. She shakes Petey's hand, in shock, mostly.

"Oh…hallo," she says. "I'm—I'm Dutch…Dutch Velders. Nice to meet you."

"Yeah, you too. So…what're you doing with all that techie gear?"

"Oh, well…back before all this shit started, I used to be in the corporate sabotage business. Now I'm in the employ of Councilwoman Feraldo. Who'da thunk, right?"

"Yeah, who'da thunk. Thought you left town with Nikki," Fet suddenly says, and they both look at him. Dutch glances down guiltily, then back up to look him in the eyes.

"Well, she left, with her mother. I wasn't invited. Thought I'd try hooking up with some of my old mates, but that didn't work out, either. So I thought I'd do something useful for a change and try to fix what I broke."

Fet lingers on her, and Dutch on him – and Petey feels like the proverbial third wheel. She's about to excuse herself when Councilwoman Feraldo's unmistakable voice interrupts them.

"Hey, Fet! My guys're telling me something's up with the Munchers. You know anything about it?" she says, walking up to them. Being the intelligent woman that she is, she too picks up on the heavy vibes between Fet and Dutch, looking between them. "Oh, you two know each other?" she says.

"Yeah, yeah…hey, something pretty major happened last night," Fet says, quickly diverting by walking off and leading Justine away.

"What's he talking about? What happened?" Dutch asks. Petey just smiles awkwardly, shrugging a bit.

"Uh…well…I'll let him fill you in on that. He understands it more than I do. See ya later…nice to meetcha," Petey says, darting after Fet before Dutch can say anything else. Dutch watches them go into the sealed-off conference room, debating for a moment – then she hurries after them, letting herself into the conference room uninvited. Everyone stares at her, but she focuses her attention on Fet.

"Did something happen with The Master?" she asks, and he just laughs, bitterly.

"Oh…so you care about that now? You sure? I mean, which is it, Dutch? Do you even give a shit about the fight anymore? The real one? Where's your loyalty today, huh? Which way's the wind blowin'?" he fires back, leaving Petey and Justine looking at each other in shock.

"That's not fair! Nikki was important to me, you knew that!" Dutch yells back, tears welling up in her eyes.

"What I know is she took off and left you behind when you were surrounded by Munchers, but all she had to do was bat those 'woe-is-me' eyelashes atcha, and poof! You're out!"

"Whoa, guys! This isn't the time or the place for personal—" Justine starts, but to everyone's surprise, Fet cuts her off.

"No, actually it's the perfect time, Councilwoman. You should know who you're dealing with before you let her get too involved…or you get too attached. Dutch ain't exactly big on commitment to anything, or anybody."

Dutch stifles a sob as she takes the hit – but she doesn't go down. She takes her well-deserved punishment, balling her fists to keep her shit together. "Yeah, okay…you're right. I deserve that. But I—I'm trying, Fet. I really did come here to do what I can to get the city's network back online. I wanted to come back to you and the Professor first, but I…I was scared. I didn't think you'd want me back."

Justine looks over at Petey, who just looks back at her, shrugging cluelessly. So Justine gets between them like a referee. "Okay, okay, look, everybody just take a breath, alright? Clearly you two have a ton of personal shit you need to work out, but y'ain't doin' that here, you got me? So put your shit aside for the moment and get back to telling me what the fuck is goin' on out there with the Munchers, Fet. Right now!"

Dutch clams up, folding her arms. "Sorry…I didn't mean to make a scene. I'll leave you to it," she says, and ducks out quick. Fet shifts around, feeling like a heel, ashamed at his own behavior.

"Yeah, me too. Sorry about that," he says to Justine. "So…anyway…well, to make a long and complicated story short, we think The Master is dead."

Justine inhales with near-delight – but then stops. "Wait—you think? You don't know?"

"Bolivar's head got separated from the rest of him, that much I know for sure, 'cause I saw it," Fet replies. "And we hit his Nazi lieutenant with enough silver to fuck him up for life. But, I dunno…somethin' ain't sittin' right with the Professor. I think he's afraid that The Master might still be able to jump to another host. So until we know for absolute sure that he hasn't, I guess we can't get too excited. But the good news is…without The Master's psychic-voodoo voice tellin' 'em what to do, the Munchers should be easier to kill."

Justine paces around a bit, considering – then she turns back to Fet, nodding. "Well…it's better than nothing, I guess. I'll get Frank to double up on our patrols, take advantage of the situation while they're vulnerable. You been in touch with Eph?"

"Yeah…yeah, he was with us last night when it happened. He went back to Red Hook to finish up a new batch of toxin for ya."

"Alright. You and Frank should head out then, see what's what, yeah?" Justine asks.

"Absolutely," he says, and as she leaves Fet turns to Petey. "You alright here for a while?" he asks.

"Yeah, I'm good," she replies, though it's with a strong hint of fatigue that Fet can't help but pick up on.

"You sure? You seem a little wonky to me," he says, quietly.

She cocks an eyebrow. "Wonky?"

"Yeah, y'know…wonky," he says, with a grin.

"Oh, is that like 'hinky'?"

"Definitely a synonym, yeah."

"Well, then, no, I'm not wonky. I'm just…tired. You do remember I was up all night attending a sick vampire. And that is not something I ever, ever thought I would say," she says, with a tired laugh.

Fet leans over and kisses her cheek. "Be good," he says and then breezes out, clearly excited to be getting back into some action. Petey strolls out and into the bullpen, looking for Dutch. She finds her back in her element, madly tapping away on one of the laptop keyboards.

"Hi," she says – and Dutch looks at her, anxiously.

"Hi."

"So, uh…as there doesn't seem to be anyone needing medical attention at the moment, you wanna get a cup of coffee?" Petey asks – and Dutch just stares at her, as intrigued as she is put-off by Petey's gregariousness. She sits back in her chair, looking her up and down.

"I had no idea he had a sister."

"Yeah, well…I didn't know he had a girlfriend," Petey replies, and Dutch has to laugh, however ironically. She nods as she shuts off the laptops and gets up.

"Yeah, fuck it. Let's go. I actually have my own stash of French roast," she says, tapping her backpack as she slings it over her shoulder.

"Nice," Petey replies – and as Dutch walks by her, Petey feels a twinge in her forearm. She massages the sore spot, flexing her stiff hand and fingers. She makes a mental note to check the wound as soon as she can – and she thinks of Quinlan, hoping she doesn't see his life in her dreams anymore.

Olympian Club

As Setrakian waits for Quinlan to join him in the study he peruses the Lumen, paging forward from the last bit of translation they'd done – which only told them things they already knew about the Ancients. Setrakian makes a face when he sees the ancient papyrus pages ahead, scrawled with line after line of what looks like Arabic.

"Goddammit…couldn't anyone who put this blasted thing together have written in English?" he fumes, slamming the book shut and shoving it away just as Quinlan finally makes his appearance.

"Is everything alright, Professor?" he asks calmly, and Setrakian looks up at him, somewhat embarrassed.

"About as alright as can be expected," he says, leaning back in the chair. Then he looks Quinlan over and makes a satisfied face. "You look…better," he replies.

"Not quite back to full capacity, but certainly better than last night. Thank you for the clothes, by the way," Quinlan offers as he sits down on the couch, grimacing a bit, still uncomfortable. "Where has everyone gone?" he asks.

"Ephraim took Zach with him back to Red Hook, and the Fets have gone to meet with Councilwoman Feraldo, to let her know what happened last night," Setrakian says. Quinlan nods, only really interested in finding out where Petey had disappeared to.

"Are you ready to continue?" Setrakian asks.

"Of course."

"Well then, glove up and have a look at this," Setrakian says, tossing him a pair of leather gloves, which Quinlan slips on before Setrakian hands the Lumen over to him, open to the pages written in Arabic. Quinlan touches the ancient papyrus, briefly remembering the days when it was the only way to record the written word. So many years ago.

"It is Arabic, is it not?" Setrakian asks.

"Yes…Egyptian," Quinlan replies, his whitish eyes scanning the symbols, translating in his head. "This is only a partial document. It begins in the middle of a sentence, but it seems to be a record of what they believed to be a plague of disappearances. People in the villages disappearing and then returning to their families changed. They had turned into creatures seeking blood," he reads, turning the pages. Then he makes a puzzled face. "Well…the account cuts off there, and then this last bit here was attached to it. It reads, '…and the end of the blood-creatures' dominance over man will come when the house of red and white is built and strong enough to stand on its own.'"

Quinlan looks up at Setrakian, who stares back at him. "'The house of red and white'…a curious term. I can only imagine it's referring to an allegiance of humans and Strigoi against The Master…perhaps all of the Ancients," he says, and Quinlan nods.

"Perhaps it has already been built. We are working together, after all," Quinlan replies.

"Are we?" Setrakian asks, his tone pointed, making Quinlan shift around uncomfortably.

"Yes, Professor, we are. What Dr. Goodweather and I did was simply take advantage of an opportunity…one that we knew you would not."

Setrakian takes in the words, his expression softening a bit. "I understand now why you did what you did, Mister Quinlan. I also know now that I was partly responsible. Had I not been so…shall we say, inflexible…Ephraim surely would have told me as soon as The Master made his play for the Lumen."

"Dr. Goodweather is no hero…but he has no ill will toward you. All he cared about was getting his son back," Quinlan says, and Setrakian nods.

"Yes…I understand that, too. So let's just call it water under the bridge, shall we? So long as I have your assurance that you won't do anything like that again."

"You have it."

The two of them sit in a comfortable silence for a moment, looking each other as the equals they are. "Good…so now that we've gotten that out of the way, is there anything you want to tell me about what happened out there?"

"What do you mean?"

"Did The Master say anything to you? Anything that could help us?"

Quinlan thinks on it, glancing away – and a brief flash of the worms coming out of The Master's decapitated head pops in his mind.

"What?" Setrakian prompts.

"I saw something, before I passed out," Quinlan replies. "When I cut off his head, the white worms spilled out…but there was something else, too…a red one."

"A red worm?"

Quinlan nods, becoming surer of it the longer he thinks on it. "Yes…it was larger than the white worms, and definitely red. I'd never seen such a thing before. Have you?" he asks.

Setrakian shakes his head. "No…I've never even heard of it," he says. He gets up from the chair and paces around, feeling something clicking in his mind. "Did you see what happened to it?"

"I think it slipped between the boards. Who knows what happened to it after that."

Setrakian paces for another moment, and then turns back to Quinlan. "This could be why I don't feel more at ease even though The Master is dead," he says.

"Yes," Quinlan agrees. "I also do not feel as if anything was truly resolved."

"This red worm you saw…if even you have not heard of it before, then…" Setrakian trails off, at a loss for what to do. Quinlan considers – then he stands up, an idea forming.

"We need answers…and there is only one place to go for that. Stay here. I will go and request audience. Then they will come for us."

Setrakian gives him a questioning look, then realizes what he means. "Very well…you'll be alright out there in the sun?"

"I'll make it quick," Quinlan replies. Setrakian nods – then on a sudden impulse, he calls out.

"Mister Quinlan."

He turns back around and Setrakian gives him a bit of a smirk. "It's good to have you back," he says – and Quinlan finds himself struck by the kind words, hard-earned and rarely given.

"Thank you for not leaving me behind, Professor," Quinlan replies. And Setrakian too, is struck by Quinlan's return gesture as he bows slightly and touches his chest – an old-fashioned sign of respect, just as hard to earn and just as rare. Then he dashes off, leaving a stiff breeze in his wake.

Coney Island

Still recovering inside the warehouse, Eichhorst awakens to find a Strigoi man standing over him – old, disheveled – no doubt one of the city's many homeless before the virus spread. Eichhorst looks up at him, wary, but still unable to do much to defend himself. Then the man's eyes flash orange and Eichhorst gasps in relief.

"Master…" he whispers, and the man stretches out a hand with jagged fingernails that grow as his hand gets closer to Eichhorst's face. The man uses his thumbnail to cut his index finger, and Eichhorst opens his mouth to receive The Master's essence. Three drops are all it takes, and then the man disappears in a flash.

Eichhorst closes his eyes, feeling the essence taking effect. He winces as the burns and the gunshot wounds heal up almost immediately, causing a burn of its own. But Eichhorst relishes this kind of pain, the exquisite pain leading to ultimate rejuvenation – strength and mental clarity beyond imagination. And because he serves The Master well, Eichhorst knows he will remain immortal with his free will intact.

He stands up, taking deep breaths that feel like fresh air even though it's heavy with stink and cold inside the warehouse. When he opens his eyes, he sees Kelly walking toward him, healed by The Master as well. They see each other as they truly are, without the makeup and wigs and clothes. They smile at each other, both of them elevated above the rank-and-file, the soldiers – they have been chosen.

"The Master said he is going to rest in the soil now," Kelly says.

"Yes…and once the sun has set, we will go and find your son," Eichhorst replies. Kelly looks down at that, sadly – but then Eichhorst lifts her chin to look at him.

"Do not fret, my dear. Your husband's victory is but a fleeting one. Ours will be forever," he says. Kelly straightens up at that, brightening with renewed pride in her mission – and her new Master.

New York Public Library

Bryant Park, Manhattan

Wearing his standard hood and goggles to protect him against the sun, Quinlan makes the trek down Fifth Avenue in a matter of minutes, trash and dead leaves flying everywhere as he speeds to the designated spot to send up a signal to the Ancients. He looks at the two large, marble lions flanking the library steps – sitting like Sphinxes on their pedestals, proud and stoic amidst the ruin around them. He approaches the one on the south end, named "Patience," digging in a hollowed-out nook under its flank to remove a flag that's been hidden in it. Quinlan unfurls the black flag with the red Sun Hunters' symbol on it and hangs it around the lion's head – then he moves over to "Fortitude," the lion on the north side, and does the same thing. Then he sticks a note back inside the nook with the Olympian Club's location on it. Now he would just have to wait for the patrolling Sun Hunters to see the signal and send for them.

Cloud cover rolls across the sky, giving Quinlan some respite from the sun, so he takes the trip back walking. He takes in the dead city around him, something he hadn't really done up until now, looking at the buildings surrounding him, imagining them full of people, noise and movement – full of life. Then he sees something dash across the street up ahead. He picks up the pace and goes after it, unable to make out who or what it is at first – it just looks small, with flashes of color. It stays ahead of him for a block or two before making a sharp turn. As the little shape disappears into one of the buildings, Quinlan picks up the distinct sound of…a child's laughter…a girl.

Quinlan looks at the signs, a half-dozen businesses all crammed into a few buildings, and one catches his eye – a ballet school. Hearing music, he goes in and up the steps, drawn in by the light, lilting classical piece. He enters the studio and sees an unexpected sight – a group of little girls no older than six, all dressed in strange, glittery costumes, with painted fabric tied to their arms. He walks farther in, unsure what to make of what he's seeing – then he looks to the side and sees a group of adults watching the girls, all smiling and laughing as they watch the girls dance. Quinlan looks back at the girls and when he sees them wave their arms up and down, he realizes what they're supposed to be – butterflies. The girls prance and turn and jump in time with the music, some of them out of step, but charming nonetheless. Quinlan makes a face, knowing that what he's seeing can't possibly be happening right now.

It must be from the past…but why…why am I seeing this?

Then for a reason he can't quite put a finger on, one of the girls catches his attention. Out of the larger group, three of the girls single themselves out to do their own steps, ending with them doing a cartwheel and then posing adorably. But when the girl in the middle of the trio – although she looks like any other ordinary kid, with brown hair, light eyes and chubby cheeks – when she smiles, Quinlan's breath catches.

…that's Petey.

He watches, stunned and focused on her, as the group finishes the dance and the crowd of excited parents stands up and claps. All the girls then run to their families, getting hugs, kisses and encouragement. Quinlan watches little Petey, looking around for her somebody – but there isn't anyone there for her. Petey goes to the door and looks out – and then she turns back, all the joy gone from her face.

Quinlan feels a familiar tightening in his chest then, knowing exactly how the little girl feels. One of the teachers finds her and leads her back into the fold, telling her what a wonderful job she did. Then a woman comes rushing in, breathing hard from running, looking older than she is…or was. But as exhausted as she is, she still rushes up to little Petey and hugs her tight, kissing her cheek with a loud smack.

"She did beautifully. She's so excited for tomorrow night," the teacher says to the woman, with more than a hint of scolding in her tone.

"Yes, yes, so am I. I'm so proud of you, my angel…come on, get your things," the woman says, with an eastern European accent to her English. She ignores the teacher and practically drags Petey out the door.

"I am sorry I did not get here in time, angel. Work kept me late," Petey's mother says, as they go down the steps.

"You can't be late tomorrow, Mama," Petey says, and her mother kisses her little hand.

"I am leaving work early tomorrow, so I will be there to get you from school, okay?"

"Okay…is Dad gonna come?" Petey asks, and her mother's smile disappears – but only for a second, as she covers up with another smile, caressing her cheek.

"Oh, Petra…I don't know. We will see, okay? But for now, let's get you home before we get that costume all dirty. I think we should get pizza tonight, huh? What do you think?"

"Yay! Pizza!" little Petey says, all bad thoughts temporarily erased by the promise of cheese and pepperoni. Still standing at the top of the steps, Quinlan watches with amazement as the vision vanishes in front of him – but then he hears voices again, coming from the studio. He goes back in to see the room empty except for a teacher and a girl around ten years old. Working at the barre, the teacher shows the girl how to hold her body and balance in her new pointe shoes.

Quinlan moves in closer and around to the side to get a better look at the girl he knows is Petey, in what he knows now must be a memory of hers. He sees the concentration on her face as she lifts herself up on her toes, trying her first relevé. The teacher straightens Petey's legs, her posture and lifts her chin – and when Petey wobbles and drops out of position, the teacher scolds her. Petey drops her head and mumbles an apology before trying again – and again, and again, the work clearly hard on a child's body.

Then Quinlan hears music behind him and turns to see Petey again, older, looking more like the woman he knows. This time she's by herself, dancing across the studio to music from "The Nutcracker." Quinlan grins a bit at seeing her move so gracefully, making such difficult work look effortless. Then he hears voices and looks to see three blonde girls standing in the doorway, snickering.

"Give it up. You suck!" one of them says, the others giggling.

"What're you even doing, Petra? It's not like you'll ever get to play Clara. You just haven't got the talent, much less the money to go to a proper school," another one says, strolling up to her with the others behind to back her up. "From the looks of it, your poor, single mom can't even afford decent pointe shoes. I mean seriously, look at those things…that shit is ratchet."

As the girls crack themselves up, Petey shuts off the music and grabs her stuff off the floor. Then she walks right up to them. "You wanna say something else about my mother, you stuck-up little twat?" she fires, and all the girls gasp, totally offended – which makes Quinlan actually chuckle, just a bit, hearing that unique sass in her voice.

"What'd you just call me?" the girl says.

"Oh, you didn't hear? What're you, deaf too? I said, you're a…stuck-up…little…twat," Petey replies, putting her face right in hers.

"Bitch! I will fuck you up!" the girl yells – but before she can even make a move, Petey makes hers and slaps her hard across the face. The air in the room stills, and all the girls look at each other in shock, including Petey. Then the girl who took the slap rubs her face, eyes stung with tears.

"Can't believe you did that…you fucking slapped me!" she says, and for just a second regret shows in Petey's expression – but then she straightens up, owning it.

"Well, what'd you think was gonna happen? You think I'm just gonna stand there and take that kinda shit? Fuck you!" Petey says, pointing at her, "Yeah…fuck you and your wack-ass pirouettes which everybody in class laughs at, by the way, including your little fem-bots here. Now get the fuck outta my way or the next one's gonna be a right hook."

The mean girls part to let Petey by without another word, and she heads down the steps – but not too quickly, and Quinlan follows her, knowing how she's feeling. She's scared…afraid of what she's just done…what she knows she's capable of now…a feeling that Quinlan is all too familiar with. As Petey busts through the door, the girl she slapped gets one last dig in, yelling after her loud enough for people on the street to hear.

"Yeah, go back to Brighton Beach, you fuckin' Russian mail-order whore! Just like your fuckin' mother!"

The words are so hateful that Quinlan turns to look at the girl, his ire rising in Petey's defense – but then he remembers, she's not really there. None of them are. But as he turns and looks at the street around him, it transforms from the desolate ghost city back to its bustling former self, the Christmas lights and music in the air giving everything a joyful vibe. Petey stops just outside to rip off her pointe shoes and stuff them in her bag, replacing them with a worn-out pair of sneakers. Then she takes off down the street, and Quinlan stays with her.

Young Petey navigates the sea of people, traffic and noise like a pro – keeping a quick pace and her eyes straight ahead, not looking directly at anyone. She digs in her jacket pocket – a jacket Quinlan notices is much too thin for the cold – and pulls out a cigarette and lighter. He watches as she stops at the subway entrance, leaning up against the rail while she lights up the cigarette.

Quinlan moves closer to his vision, this fragment of Petey's memory – feeling her sadness as she smokes like a seasoned expert, even though she can't be more than fourteen. He watches her as she blows out some smoke and looks up – past the grimy, light-polluted confines of New York City and into the boundless sky beyond. And Quinlan knows exactly what young Petey is thinking just then, what she's dreaming of – a better life for herself – one where she won't be known as just a pitiful bastard child. Tears roll down her cheeks as she anxiously flicks the cigarette in her fingers – then she rips her eyes away from the sky and its infinite possibilities to stare down at her feet, tears dripping onto her shoes.

She looks just as she did on that rooftop, Quinlan thinks, as Petey takes a last drag on the cigarette and then crushes it with her foot. Then she heads down into the subway, disappearing into the dark – and the memory disappears with her, transporting Quinlan back to the present, onto the deserted street.

And as the haze and heady feeling of being inside Petey's memory fades, Quinlan realizes that this is something he's never done before – something that only The Master and the rest of the Ancients have the power to do – to connect with the mind of one he's fed on. And Quinlan just has to wonder if this new-found ability is really coming from him – or from her.