Chapter Twelve

Catherine's outlook had improved once out of Tartarus. Her face was still broken out, still bloated; she was still overweight. But she had quit hiding her face. She had regained some of her optimism. She smiled, and sometimes laughed.

He had been showing her all week how to start a fire with a bow-drill. It had taken him weeks to learn how, in his childhood, in the Tunnels, camping with Devin and some of the men. She had not been successful yet, but "I feel lucky today," she said.

The sun had not yet started to rise; stars still twinkled in the sky. She hunched over the bow, and started turning it.

"I think today will be the day you do it," he affirmed.

"I will be so proud of myself when I finally get it. This is one of the hardest things I've ever tried to do."

"You love taking on a challenge, pushing yourself, testing yourself." He paused. "I admire your courage."

"I don't know if I've got the courage to go back looking like this. My face is my identity. After my face was slashed, it was difficult partly because I didn't know who I was. I was always seen as a 'pretty girl,' and when I first went back, I wasn't, and I had no reason to believe I ever would be again. I knew how to be a pretty princess. I could always get what I wanted, and everyone loved me, when I was a daddicespritteagurl."

"What is a daddicespritteagurl?"

"Daddy's pretty girl is pretty, devoid of ambition, rich and stupid."

"But you're not stupid, you're very smart."

"Smart enough to never let anyone know how smart I was. If you're a woman, no one will listen to you if you're pretty and smart. No one will listen to you if you're ugly and poor. No one will like you if you're strong and pretty. And it's never okay to be old."

He was quiet for a time, considering. ""Maybe it's time to re-tell our fairy tales. And find some new friends. Hecate surrounds herself with an interesting group; we might want to meet them sometime. Catherine, what does it mean to you to be a strong woman?" he asked.

"It means you're self-confident, self-assured. You're not overly concerned with anyone else's opinion of you."

"So…how do you feel about yourself?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I'm overweight, I have acne, I'm clumsy, not too bright…well…I also have a lot of compassion, patience, kindness and warmth. And I have my friends, my feelings for you haven't changed-"

"Your feelings for me have changed. You won't let me kiss you anymore."

She put down the bow-drill, and stared at him. She thought for a moment. "My feelings for you haven't changed. It's my feelings for myself that changed. And I just had an epiphany. When you don't feel good about yourself, you can't believe other people feel good about you. My god, Vincent, now I can see why you wouldn't kiss me, why you kept pushing me away…all my desire for you, now it's painful, it makes me realize how disgusting I am, revolting-"

"You're not!" he yelled at her. "Don't say that!" "Hecate gave me the power to heal," he thought. "Let me help you heal, Catherine." He crouched down beside her and pulled out his knife from his belt. He made a small cut in the tip of his middle finger, and squeezed a little puddle of blood into the dirt. He made a muddle of it with a fingertip, and grasped Catherine's chin.

"This is the face paint of the war god, Vik-Tor-Ka-taz," he said, drawing a wavy line across a cheek. "She who wears it is irresistible to men and gods," he said as he drew a straight line down her other cheek.

She smiled. "I feel the magic of the paint," she whispered. "You are powerless to resist me. Kiss me, I command it."

He sighed, and leaned down while she lifted her face to him. It was a kiss that reached all the way to their souls and made their hearts pound.

As they pulled away from each other, they smiled; the first, the scariest hurdle cleared. "I have got to get some coffee," murmured Catherine, and she picked up the bow drill and bent again over the hearth board. Very quickly, smoke started rising; she dropped her ember in her kindling, and blew steadily on it; a bold flame leapt up.

"Vincent! Vincent! Look! Look!"

"I see! I see!"

"I did it! I did it!"

"You are amazing! Amazing!"

Many minutes later, they sat sipping coffee before a crackling campfire.

"Best coffee I ever had," she said.

"Yes," he agreed.

"But how can a woman wield power, if not as a princess?" asked Catherine. They hiked across the plain, their footsteps kicking up small dust clouds. Their pace was easy; they had a long way to go, and no timetable to meet. But they did have work to get accomplished before they left. An enormous amount of work.

"THAT is the question you have to answer for yourself."

After a moment she answered, "Yes."

"Catherine," Vincent began uncertainly. "I've been thinking. I've had so much time to think…there is something I feel I must say to you, so I will say it plainly," he stopped and took her gently by the shoulders. "Catherine, I am not human, but I am not an animal, either. I am both. I have human needs, but I have animal needs, as well. I have always been ashamed of my animal nature, my primal self. I am learning to not be ashamed. I am learning to accept and be myself."

"Vincent, that's so wonderful!" exclaimed Catherine. He had scared her when he started, because she had no idea what point he was trying to make. She was relieved to say the least, and actually overjoyed at the prospect that he might quit his self-loathing.

"But will you be able to accept me? My behavior is going to change. My primal self has feelings of dominance, control. So many times I've said to you, 'follow your heart'." He shook his head. "Would you be able to accept me if instead I said, 'No, Catherine, it is unthinkable for you to move to Providence.' Or what if I said, 'Catherine, you are in danger. Come Below until the danger passes.' Because then if you refused to come Below, I would simply pick you up, and take you kicking and screaming. What then?"

She sighed. "I am going to admit something to you, and it's very hard for me to do. If I had listened to you, and come Below when you asked…" she faltered. "If I had come Below when you asked me to, many people would still be alive today. You would not have been hurt as much, physically and emotionally. I should have listened to you. So I may kick and scream, but after I calm down, I will remember all the people who ought to be alive. I will see the scars on your body, and in your eyes I will see the scars on your soul. So, I will be okay with you dragging me Below—in the long run."

He nodded. "You blame yourself for people dying. You feel guilt." She nodded. "My horrible truth, my terrible secret, Catherine, is that I enjoy killing people."

She looked into his eyes. "I know you do."

"Afterward, I do feel remorse, guilt. Not only did I kill, I enjoyed mauling people. My real fear is that the people I love will see me as a monster, and stop loving me."

She sighed. "Kanin got drunk, got behind the wheel of a car, and killed a young boy. We still love him. Devin pretended to be a doctor and performed a C-section on some unsuspecting woman. We still love him. Winslow was a ferocious bully, and he was your best friend. He died for our love. Your family will never stop loving you. They don't fear you because you can kill, they appreciate you because you keep them safe. They love you because you're gentle and loving and kind, and you're family. And as for me—Vincent, I killed myself and followed you into hell. I can't do any more than that. I love you. I will always love you. You're going to have to develop some faith, and trust."