Author's Note: WHELP, it's been a while, hasn't it?

First of all, apologies are due. I was unsure where to go next and got caught up in life, the universe and everything. Sorry for disappearing! However, Dust is always niggling in the back of my head, and thanks to some awesome, inspiring kindness from friends, I'm ready to continue. The show must go on, after all.

Secondly, thank you all so much for the wonderful reviews. Each and every one of them has offered me some measure of relief in knowing that my work has gotten a response, positive or negative, and so many of you have been supportive. Even if nobody continues to read (understandable, with the time gap) I'm grateful people did. A special thanks to Mistress Arachnia, awesome friend and inspiration who has HUGELY helped me with getting back on track in my writing. Thanks, MA, and thanks to all of you awesome readers! 3)

I awoke in my own bed, skin chill with cooling sweat, tangled in sheets, and alone. Too late for moonlight, too early for sun - I slipped out from under the blankets, shivering as my feet touched the cold floor and summoning a quivering little light in my hands. My skin tingled, my hips and legs aching, and blurry-eyed I stumbled to dress, fogged with the memories of…

Pleasure. It had been a long time, since I'd experienced it like that. And so different from what I knew. Not tender and loving, like it was in Bolor's arms, but white-hot, fiery, all-consuming like flame, taking as much as we gave. Memories of gasps and smirks and his dark eyes seeing what I wanted to do, are you quite sure you can bend that way, pet… I traced a bruise along my hip, a longing ache echoing through my body. It had been - been -

What had it been?

Filthy!

"What?" I blinked, the hairs on my neck raising - a voice. A muffled croak, there and gone as though I'd only imagined it. And terribly familiar. I stood, fixing the last buttons on my blouse, narrowing my eyes at the shadows. Have I gone mad? I heard…

Filthy, filthy, no, no, no the mother-killer it isn't right it isn't fair! The hiss became a whimper. No, not in my head - I whirled around - the wakizashi, where did I - "Who's there?" My voice trembled, as much as I tried to prevent it. "Who are you?" Mother-ki -

Bile climbed up my throat, my skin crawling. "You. No - you're dead."

Dead! Dead! If I were dead I'd be with mother, I'd be at peace, I am not dead! I'm trapped. Trapped! I failed, I failed…

"Shut up!" I clutched my head, grimacing against the invasion of the voice. "You're dead, dead…"

There was no reply. Only a gentle hiss, like a candle being put out. My light spell faded, taking any memory of pleasure with it. I heard him, I know I did, I know - I ripped my room apart, searching every empty shadow for a trace of a dead man, long since ash. There was nothing, only a deafening silence.

I have gone mad.

I took quick breaths, trying to compose myself. No, no, I'm just - tired. I need, need -

Tea?

I frowned, following the scent to the kitchen, where Lucien sat leisurely at my table.

"…You're still here."

Lucien glanced up, giving me a slight nod before sipping from a mug. "Good tea- Stonepetal?"

"Y-yes. Vicente gave it to me, said he thought I'd like it and…" I took a deep breath, exhaling and letting every word tumble out at once. "AndIjustheardavoiceinmyheadsayfilthyIthinkI'vegon emad."

A pause. Lucien's brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of my words. "…Filthy." A quiet snicker. "You aren't a virgin, are you?"

"No!"

"Pity. I could have used another notch on my belt." He only smirked as I glowered. "Relax, pet. The events of these past few days must have taken a toll on your - delicate state of mind."

"I am not delicate, and I am not mad," I snarled without venom, denying even though I had feared the same moments ago. "I know I heard it. It was…" I shuddered, sitting stiffly down at the table as Lucien arched a quizzical brow. Mother-killer. "It was the traitor."

Immediately the look of amusement on Lucien's face fled. His features hardened, stare piercing. "Bellamont?" He stood suddenly, shoving the chair away and beginning to stalk across the room. The assassin I just slept with is stalking across my kitchen, drinking all my tea. The thought somehow made me laugh, an almost hysterical giggle that ended as quickly as it began when Lucien glared. "I fail to see what is funny. What, exactly, did this 'voice' say?"

"He said - that it wasn't fair. That he wasn't dead, but trapped. And talked about a mother-killer. "

"Me," Lucien nodded, the corner of his mouth twitching in a mirthless smirk that faded as he seemed to slip into thought again. "He is long dead, nothing but ashes. I have never heard of a spirit of wraith as a voice, without physical form."

"Neither have I," I muttered under my breath, cradling my face in my hands before rising to the fire, putting on a kettle of tea. "I'm not exactly an expert on such things." It made no sense - from what little I did know, spirits bound themselves to physical planes, areas that had been significant in life, or the place they had died, not to people. But whatever Bellamont had manifested as when he died, it had followed me, as surely as though I'd carried it myself.

A shiver crawled down my spine. Carried it myself.

The soul gem.

The night mother's voice whispered as it had that night in my head, in echo. I would not send you away empty-handed. She had dismissed the soul of the poor girl, trapped inside, and replaced it with...

"Then perhaps you ought to speak to someone who is, pet." Lucien moved beside me, watching as I stirred herbs into the hot water - I slowed, then stopped, meeting his gaze when I felt his hand on mine. There was no warmth, no concern - only intensity that made me shrink. "… What are you hiding from me?"

I pursed my lips, turning my head and stirring the tea and letting steam rise against my cheeks. "You remember, that night, in the tomb - the Night Mother took a soul gem from me. Bellamont had it. It had the soul of - Maria. His lover, I think." I nodded to myself, speaking softly, slowly. "She released it. But she said that she wouldn't let me leave 'empty-handed', and filled the gem again."

Lucien growled under his breath. "You took the gem from him - and you never told anyone?"

"Well, how the hell was I to have known what I carried?" I snapped, whirling on him with a glare. "I had no idea, then. It's not like I decided to carry around the traitor's soul - I wanted to help the poor girl he'd killed. The soul was a gift, apparently, from your bitch of a mo - "

I was cut short by sudden pain and the crack of skin against skin. A slap - not enough to bruise, but enough to hurt, to warn. I blinked, my cheek stinging as Lucien curled back his hand, words slow and deliberate. "You do not speak. Of Her. That way."

My breath stopped short. I took a moment to speak, blinking away tears. "Get out of my house."

He turned without another word. I cringed at the sound of the door slamming, every muscle tightening before going limp. I sunk into a chair, burying my face in my hands, gritting my teeth. I had been half-joking, but the sting of my cheek made me hiss again, with venom. Bitch of a mother. Bastard of a son. I clenched the edges of my chair white-knuckled. Bastard I shared a bed with, and now this thing is a gift from her…

A knock on the door and I stood, moving to yank the door open. "I told you to get out of my house, you utter - "

Mum raised a brow. "That's hardly the way to greet your mother."

I blinked, then sighed, anger melting, leaving warmth and relief. "Mum." I fell into her arms before the door could even close, squeezing her tight. "I missed you."

"I was in the city, and I thought I'd stop by and check up on you." She lay a gentle kiss on my brow, looking me over with a frown. "From the look of you, it seems it's good I did."

"I..." I sighed and shook my head, turning away from her. Whose side would she take, if I told her? Her daughter's or her mother's? "It's nothing. Can I get you some tea?"

She sniffed, raising her chin and her brow in a meaningful glance. "You can. And then you can tell me the truth about what's on your mind." I heard the scrape and creak of a moving chair as I faced the fire. The scent of the stonepetal Lucien must have brewed greeted me, making me grimace. Bastard. Still, I poured a mug, placing it in front of mum before pulling out my own chair and sitting, unable to fake a smile.

"Stonepetal? Vicente gave you this, I take it." She smiled, but it seemed to be plastered on her lips. Making smalltalk, trying to warm me up. I scoffed and rolled my eyes.

"I know that look, mum. Just ask me what you want to know, would you?"

She chuckled. "I can't fool you anymore, can I, dear? Yes, I'm curious about what is so worrying you." She tilted her head, expression calming. "I saw Lucien stalking out of here. He looked furious."

"I'm sure he did."

Primly she picked up her mug, sipping after she spoke. "I'm surprised. I thought he would be quite pleased he had bedded you."

I blinked as mother maintained her calm countenance, only the smallest edge of a smirk tugging at her lip. "I – how did –"

"Your blouse is buttoned wrong, your hair is a mess and to be quite frank, I knew it would happen sooner or later." Another sip and she wasn't able to hold the smirk back any longer. "There is clearly something between you two."

"Oh, yes." My voice dripped with sarcasm. I reached up two fingers to stroke my cheek, no longer stinging but still tender to the touch. "Something like slapping. How romantic."

She tilted her head, brow creasing in a frown. "He struck you?" Her lips pursed. "Hmph. Did he at least have a reason?"

"I..." She raised a brow when I faltered. I sighed and relented. "I... insulted the Night Mother. But!" I stood, hands on the table, pleading my case. "Mum, she gave me the traitor's soul! The soul gem, I took it but the Night mother took it back and it has him inside it and I heard him speak to me – "

I trailed off. Her expression was unreadable, unreachable. She shook her head and gave a long, soft sigh. "I understand," she began cautiously, "that you have some right to be angry with the Night Mother, at least from your own eyes. But if you insulted her before me – well. I would have slapped you, too."

It felt like she had struck me – the words stung, taking my breath away. Tears prickled at the corners of my eyes. "I'm not one of you, mother. And I'd remind you how much She – your kind – have taken from me. And now what she does give me, this – this maniac clinging to me?! I'd throw it away if I wasn't afraid you'd all kill me for rejecting her gift." I spat out the words.

Her voice remained calm, but her eyes hardened. "Dust – "

"No. Don't speak on her behalf, I won't hear it." I hugged myself tight, shaking my head, anger broiling in me bitter and coarse. Was I overreacting? Weeks worth of tension rose in me, overflowing. Anger and resentment at the fear and loss I'd endured, all because of the Night Mother's existence. My father, my teacher, Sirius, the university, and now my mother. I'd tried not to think of it, since we'd come back from that night, but seeing her was enough to make it hit me full-force.

"Dust."

"Just – "

"Gabriel."

I froze. It had been years since she'd called me that. If what she'd said before was a slap, this was a sword to the gullet. I shook my head, taking a moment to be able to dredge up my own voice. "Don't call me that."

She sighed wearily, raising a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. "Your birth name?"

"That father gave me. Not you."

"Yes." She bit her lip. "Stendarr is my might, it means."

I gave another half-hearted snarl, turning to face the wall. To face anything but her. "And what did Stendarr ever do for me, either? For father? He's rotting in a shallow grave because your god commanded he die. What use are the Nine, or Sithis, or the Night Mother?"

I could hear the emotion in her voice – a mixture of outrage, pain and, perhaps, empathy. "I cannot explain it to you. I wish I could, but I can't."

I shook my head, trying to keep my voice from shaking. "Then don't. I don't need them. I don't want them, Stendarr or your gods. I just – I just want..." A shuddering breath. "I just want to be alone." I sounded childish, but it was the truth.

"Very well." I didn't move until I had heard the door close. Only when I heard it creak shut did I dare move to lock it, to lean against it and fight against the swell of emotions in me. I shouldn't have argued, but I'm right, I shouldn't have insulted Her, but I hate Her – I exhaled through my teeth and made my way upstairs, to my bedroom, to the drawer.

The soul gem lay there, still, silent, unassuming.

As I moved to lay in bed, I heard his voice. The traitor would have sounded comforting, if I hadn't already known what he was. "You don't need them, you know. You should hate Her. She took your mother as she took mine, didn't she? Murdered mine, made yours a murderer. I know how it feels."

I listened, remaining silent for long minutes before speaking.

"Shut up," I grumbled, and slept.