Chapter 1: Encounter

6 months earlier...

The Symposium, from the outside, didn't seem so very impressive. It looked like an other square brick building on its block: rust-red, plain, and unassuming. But inside was a whole different story. The bottom floor of the building housed a large book store and cafe, the second floor contained a well-stocked art supply shop, and the top floor-which was mostly left as a wide open space-was used as a gallery for various showings.

The Symposium was a well-known meeting place for bibliophiles, artists, and other creative minds.

The old-fashion shop bell on the front door chimed merrily as O'Malley blew in, dressed in his ever-present pea coat and dark shades, his flame-colored hair spiked out in all directions. He looked hung-over, but in fact was not. His appearance just gave the impression that he was. He marched past one of the store's massive twin columns-columns that had been decked out and made to look like two giant, spiraling towers of books-and entered the shop's cafe. He scraped back a chair and plopped down at a table where a young man wearing a beanie cap sat drinking coffee. The young man peered over at O'Malley through a pair of blue, square-framed glasses and said: "Are you hungover?"

"What? No. Why does everyone keep asking me that?"

"Because you look it. And nine times out of ten, you usually are."

O'Malley ripped the dark frames from his face and tossed them onto the table. "There-better?"

"As a matter of fact, yes."

"Hey, O'Malley," called a girl in a black apron and white button-down shirt. "You having your usual?"

"Yes," he answered in the general direction of the cafe's counter. Belatedly he answered, "Thanks, Miriam."

"So polite today. Very good manners," said the man in the beanie cap. But O'Malley didn't miss the tone underneath the words, and wasn't the least bit surprised by the next outburst.

"So...where were you Saturday night?"

"Listen Danny-"

"No! You listen. You said you'd be there, and I was counting on you. I really could have used those pictures-"

"-Look, I'm sorry-"

-No, you're not. You are so goddam unreliable, you know that? If you didn't want to do the gig, you should have just said."

O'Malley stared guiltily at Danny's guitar case which stood propped against the wall. It's not like he'd missed the gig on purpose; he hadn't meant to break his word. But after spending the night shooting Souljacker's gig the day before, he just hadn't felt...up to it. The thought of standing near a bunch of blaring amps-two nights in a row-made his ears want to start bleeding. Hell, he hadn't gotten the ringing out of his ears from that last show.

"So I'm a jerk," O'Malley admitted.

"Yes, you are," agreed Danny.

Okay, thought O'Malley, I've screwed up here. So Souljacker was a high-profile-and even higher-paying-band. But Danny was a friend, a friend that he'd obviously let down. Basically, the situation called for some extensive grovelling...

"Black with an extra shot," chirped Miriam, clinking a large mug with a Greek building etched on the side of it down in front of him. Saved by the coffee.

O'Malley felt around inside his pea coat. Shit! He had forgotten his wallet again. At least he had the good sense to look mortified as he asked, "Uh, Danny..."

Danny glared at him, slowly shaking his head. He muttered the word "prick" under his breath as he pulled out his wallet and took out some ones to hand to Miriam. O'Malley shrugged apologetically.

The bell on the shop door chimed and the door clattered open...

"I saw that article about you in Black and White Photography magazine," said Miriam, who was hovering and speaking in what could only be termed a 'gushing' manner. It was enough to make Danny roll his eyes and mouth the word "groupie" at O'Malley from across the table. "They did a really cool analysis on your 'Nine Muses' series," continued Miriam, "about the iconography you use in your pictures..."

O'Malley's attention wandered as he caught a random flash of black out of the corner of his eye...

"...of course, one reviewer said that you were nothing but a flashy provocateur..."

"And they would be right," mumbled O'Malley absently, as he turned his head to follow the progress of the boy who'd just entered the cafe area.

Oh Holy Mother, just look at him...

O'Malley watched the beautiful blond boy as he wandered up to the front counter. He looked like a dark angel that had been dropped down from heaven, something that God himself would have found too hot to handle. The boy was an obvious winner in the genetic lottery-graced with fine bones, full lips, and long, cat-like eyes. Basically, the kind of features that just rubbed O'Malley the right way. And, as if that weren't enough, he was dressed in black leather. Tight black leather. And O'Malley was a sucker for black leather. But the detail that hooked him, that drew him in fully, was the glint of a red and black rosary that the boy wore around his neck. That simple contrast, that one tiny symbol of faith against all that beautiful, sinful material called to O'Malley like a shiny object calls to a magpie...

It was obvious that O'Malley had completely stopped paying attention to Miriam's prattling. Danny followed the photographer's captured gaze over to the counter, to the boy standing in front of it. Then Danny leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms and said, "Oh, Jesus. Here we go..."

Miriam was still talking, oblivious to everything that was happening in the room.

The boy in leather, seeing that there was no one behind the counter, began to look around the cafe. And, spotting Miriam in her black apron, he slowly approached O'Malley and Danny's table.

O'Malley tried not to stare outright as the boy stopped not three feet away from him.

"Excuse me, can I get some service over here?" the boy said in a low, scratchy voice, a voice that was a lot deeper than O'Malley expected.

Hmmm, better and better...

Miriam reluctantly stopped talking and put on her best 'happy-to-help' smile. "Sure. What do you want?"

"A mocha. Hot. With extra chocolate." the boy answered curtly.

Both Miriam and the boy turned to go back to the front counter. And that's when O'Malley reached out and grabbed the boy by the arm.

The boy stared at the hand on his arm; his look was almost murderous. But O'Malley pushed on undaunted. "Look, I'm a photographer with a studio here in town," he said, taking out a card and holding it out to the boy. "I'm always looking for new people to shoot. And you have an interesting look-"

-O'Malley ignored the snicker he heard coming from Danny's direction.

"Why don't you come by sometime?" asked O'Malley, his tone hopeful as he stared longingly into the boy's mesmerizing turquoise eyes. He willed him to accept the invitation. The boy took his card, turned it over, and looked at it. Then his expression suddenly went...dark.

"No thanks," said the boy coldly. He then shrugged off O'Malley's hand and flicked the card onto the table. O'Malley and Danny both watched in amazement as the boy turned and walked away to the counter.

Danny waited until the boy was well out of earshot before giving into hyena-like peals of laughter. O'Malley found himself glaring bloody daggers at the musician as he cackled himself straight into a coughing fit. "Oh man-that was so sweet!" said Danny in between wheezes. "Really! The great O'Malley actually got shot down! Oh, I never thought I'd live to see the day. This has got to be karma in action..."

"Go on, laugh it up, asshole," muttered O'Malley. But it was true-O'Malley wasn't used to being shot down. Ever. Not when he offered to photograph someone. His camera was the best fucking aphrodisiac on the planet. Everyone wanted to be in front of it...

Which made O'Malley wonder: what was so special about this boy that he didn't want to do it?

And then a second thought: why did he give such a damn about it anyway?

End Chapter 1.