Lena woke the next morning to find herself nearly restored. When she went into the bathroom she first checked for a dirt ring in the tub; she remembered that she had made a mess the previous evening. The whole bathroom was sparkling clean. That's what Rya was doing while I was eating. I didn't even notice. Once again Lena was thankful for Ammon and his family. He had always treated her well.

In true American fashion Lena decided to start her day with a shower, which was even more delightful than she had expected thanks to a spacious shower enclosure and plenty of water pressure. She reveled in the thick towels and soft bath rugs laid in just the right places as she stepped out of the shower and dried off. It was a relief to focus on earthly delights and let her mind rest. She dressed quickly in a loose blouse and *salwar, then followed the melody of the fountain into the courtyard, where she found herself dancing to the rhythm of the water.

Lena danced, always. She had danced since the beginning of time, since her own childhood; she had followed her mother and grandmother as they found music in the wind and water and the sound of their own steps on the ground. Dancing was the most fully human aspect of Lena's character. She danced before there was music, before instruments had been invented; she danced to the rhythm of clapping hands and sticks on stones. She danced to rejoice and to mourn, to shake off the horrors that she faced and to celebrate the victories.

She watched the dances of tribes and cultures and individuals wherever she went and joined when invited, except when the dance was designed to boast. Story-telling through dance is a universal human trait, but Lena kept her stories to herself and never boasted of her exploits. Such things are dangerous for the fragile soul of a Nephilim.

Through the centuries she had learned the intricate steps of formal dance, which is actually more of a social function than an emotional one. In the last few decades Lena had studied modern dance and had found it to be in many ways a re-invention of the wheel by those who hadn't been around to see it invented the first time.

This morning Lena danced in private around the courtyard fountain. With no eyes on her she felt free to relive the story of her battle with Caedis Cruciatus and revel in the joy of the kill once more. She found her movements becoming exultant, violent, angry, and then sorrowful as she replayed the battle and worked through her reaction to seeing Yorke again. Finally she returned to the calm joy of the morning and ended her dance by sitting on the side of the fountain with her fingers trailing in the water. Ammon approached quietly from where he had been watching in the shadows.

"Good morning, cousin. You look much better."

"Thanks, I feel much better."

"Join us for breakfast? We just got some ekmek*, boiled eggs, and goat cheese. Did you hear the baker come by? For that matter, did you hear the call to prayer? It is something to get used to again."

"I love the call to prayer," Lena said. "The voices are like a siren's song calling me home. Christians don't announce their faith publicly. They don't take it seriously enough."

"So, are you a Christian now?" Ammon asked as they went in for breakfast.

"No more than you are a Muslim," Lena answered. "We predate modern religions, cousin. Our faith is cellular."

"True," Ammon replied. "What do you call us? 'A physical manifestation of a metaphysical hypothesis.' Did you ever introduce yourself to Aristotle by the way? He would have loved you." They chuckled as they entered the breakfast room and joined Ammon's family for the first meal of the day.

After breakfast Ammon and Lena met with the members of his family who would be writing the story of her defeat of Caedis Cruciatus. It was the habit of her people to document their history adjacent to world history, with their own unique and private perspective, a habit that Ammon had made his life's work.

Lena had taken Ammon under her wing, so to speak, while he was still a young man; the two had made a formidable team, although his true gifts were in the gentler arts rather than the art of war. He had become the de facto historian of the Seraphin Nepos; he had established his own publishing house to give himself the privacy to publish limited editions of certain texts containing alternate versions of human history. Recently Ammon had been toying with the idea of publishing Seraphin Nepos history as a series of fantasy novels, as immortals and monsters were currently in vogue.

Most of the Seraphin Nepos in that branch of the family were artists and historians, and the few whom Ammon had chosen for today's meeting were nearly aglow with anticipation. Seeing Nephilim Victrix in person was a rare opportunity; listening to her describe a battle was a privilege worth waiting a lifetime for, as she would only speak of it once, and then only to give it into their hands.

The group met in Ammon's library, which was better able to accommodate their numbers than his private office. Lena relaxed in a comfortable leather chair as things were set up. She smiled a bit at the hushed excitement apparent in the room. Three sketch artists would draw as she described events, beginning the works that would ultimately illustrate the story when it went to press. Two scribes would take notes with the purpose of correlating her activity with humanity's documentation of the same events. Two digital recorders were set on side tables on either side of Lena's chair. Her words would be transcribed exactly and the recordings deleted.

As Ammon's personal assistant and one of the kitchen staff brought in the samovar* and prepared tea, Lena let her eyes wander around what was possibly her favorite room in the house. Airy rather than claustrophobic as some libraries are, this space was designed with beauty and scholarship equally in mind. She loved the built-in bookcases of pale wood trimmed with intricately carved designs, but her favorite feature was the huge mosaic inlaid into the marble floor. A combination of girih and semi-representation floral designs in primary colors, it was the highlight of the riad's many architectural delights.

Fortified with strong tea, Lena began the narrative of the destruction of Caedis Cruciatus, presenting it as a lesson in battle tactics for future Seraphin Nepos. She used no personal names, referring only to 'the werewolf', 'the vampire', or 'the ghost' when she spoke of the three beings she had encountered in Wales. When she was finished, she would entertain questions and verify the accuracy of the sketches that were being done as she spoke.

Overall the meeting with Ammon's publishing staff was a success. Her narrative went smoothly and there were few questions. She was interrupted only once, by Ammon's son Sukru.

"Why did you allow yourself to be injured?"

"Why do you think?" Lena answered calmly. The room got very quiet.

"I don't know," Sukru said, frustrated. "You are the Nephilim Victrix. Why would you allow yourself to be injured?"

Lena sighed. "First of all, I'm not much on titles, okay? Secondly, my primary goal is to protect human life, so I use the least force possible to defeat whatever enemy I'm fighting. Big battles cause big messes and put people at big risk, even if they are easier on me and a lot more fun." Lena smiled at the thought. "When I'm in a populated area I try to keep people out of danger as much as possible. They call it minimizing collateral damage, and the more crowded the world gets the harder it is to do. It's all right, though," she added lightly, "I can take the hit."

"But surely your well-being is more important…" Sukru argued.

"Thinking like that will get you a quick ticket to the devil's camp," Lena snapped. She knew all too well what Sukru was talking about, because at one time she had felt the same.

Lena was the living embodiment of the saying, "She doesn't know her own strength." In truth, she wasn't sure what she was capable of because she had never been pushed to her limits. When she was younger Lena was careful in battle and always followed her dad's excellent instructions. Over time she learned how to defeat different types of monsters, demons, and cursed beings, but she was still concerned about being beaten, until she looked back through the millennia and realized that she never had been.

Gradually Lena came to realize that her strength matched whatever challenge she met. She could behead a dragon, unwrap a whirlwind, slaughter a horde of zombies (much more easily than expected), and dispatch any of the multitude of types of demons that threatened humanity. As she dealt with witches and necromancers, poltergeists and giants, and all manner of nature spirits with bad attitudes she came to realize that her belief in her ability to win was at least partially the source of her power to win. She simply had to accept that the spiritual elements of her being were not dependent upon her physical abilities. She took it on faith that she would prevail against any enemy.

As she had recognized the breadth of her powers Lena had encountered the lure of arrogance, of ego, of exalting herself above others. She felt the darkness in her soul stretch and grow stronger, and she realized that ego had destroyed Lucifer* and could easily destroy her. She made a decision not to abuse her powers by using more than were necessary to meet a challenge. She chose to accept injury because injury reminded her of her own humanity.

Ammon knew these things about his cousin. They had shared many conversations on the value of human life and the threat that their powers brought to humanity and to their own souls.

"Sukru," he said gently. "We must guard against thinking too highly of ourselves. That's why I find your mother so charming. She makes sure I'm humbled whenever I get out of line." There had been a combined chuckle and sigh of relief as tension eased and Lena continued her narrative.

When the meeting was finished the team was dismissed, leaving only Ammon and Lena. As the tea was cleared away Ammon called for a bottle of raki. He knew the story wasn't over.

"I know it's early, but I thought we could use something a little stronger than tea," he said as his assistant brought the potent anise-flavored alcohol in on a tray, along with glasses, water, and ice. Ammon dismissed the man and fixed their drinks himself, watching the clear raki turn milky white as he added water. He handed Lena a glass, resumed his seat in the comfortable leather chair that matched her own, and waited.

She took a sip. "It was Yorke."

"Shit." Ammon immediately understood what was weighing down his normally vivacious cousin. "Were you told beforehand?"

"Not until I got on site."

"Figures." Ammon was clearly disgusted. "Angels. They always have a secret plan and they don't play fair. I think they must have created 'need-to-know.' But you took the job anyway, and you didn't kill him. I'm impressed."

"I took the job under protest and I didn't kill him because I'm forbidden to. Why can't he just die! You'd think the son-of-a-bitch has a guardian angel or something!

Ammon took a sip of his drink. "So," he asked, "how is your old boyfriend?"

"Fuck you." Lena was not in the mood.

"Come on, cousin. Who else are you going to talk to about it? You haven't seen him for, what, over 200 years? How's he looking? Pretty as ever?" Ammon chuckled softly into his drink.

Lena took a breath. "It's been nearly 300 years, thank you, since I held a knife to his throat and a stake to his heart. He hasn't changed, god damn his beautiful hide straight to hell! Just about perfect, except for that little scar on his cheek where a whip cut him while he was still human."

"That's how it all started, wasn't it? How you two met, back in 1513? The stable master, what was his name? Nasty man, I met him once—"

"Pyotr." Lena spat out the name like a curse. "I suspected him of beating the horses. Caught him in the act that day."

"Right, you told me. Young Henry blocked the blow and got cut on the cheek by Pyotr's whip. Pretty nervy thing for a groom to do, but I guess it earned him a promotion."

"He'd just been hired, too," Lena continued the story. "Pyotr, the cocksucker, was making him work to earn his first meal. Lord I hated that man! I don't see what Andrzej saw in him."

"I think your description of the man pretty well sums up what your fair nephew saw in him," Ammon said with a smirk.

"Yeah, that's about it," Lena said. "Andrzej is an asshole. Always has been, probably always will be. I never should have given him charge over my Polish properties. He kept Pyotr on as his personal groomsman after I told him to throw the man off the property."

Ammon threw her a look. "You mean Andrzej is still in place? After all this time? Surely you could have found someone more pleasant to deal with by now."

"I promised his dad I'd give him the job. I think he knew Andrzej is a sorry sack of shit who would never make it on his own," Lena explained. "I have moved him to a position of financial management only. He handles money better than he handles people."

"Ah. That explains how he is still alive. Otherwise someone would have killed him for sure."

"He's been very careful since he discovered that regeneration isn't among his gifts," Lena smiled to herself as she recalled the day she helped Andrzej make that discovery. He had used his position as steward to steal from her and she had chosen an old-school punishment. It is harder to steal when you're missing a hand.

Ammon returned the conversation to current events. "Still, it was right for them to call you in on this job. It was a bad one. Caedis Cruciatus was probably the most powerful demon in existence. Nobody else could have handled it. I couldn't have. Uri wasn't able to. You had to do it."

"Yes."

"But it's over now, so you can go back into hiding," Ammon said, carefully keeping his voice neutral. "I wish you wouldn't do that. You've never run from a fight in your life."

"But I'm not allowed to fight, that's the problem." Lena put her head in her hands for a moment, gathering her thoughts. "There's such a fine line between justice and vengeance. We were forbidden to harm Humbaba*, remember? The monster killed your wife and children and neither one of us was allowed to touch him for it."

"We didn't run and hide, though, we found another way. Gilgamesh* took care of that one," Ammon said. "He was a good friend; too bad he's not around to deal with Yorke. There aren't enough of us left to handle those kinds of favors anymore, not since Snow's genocide initiative of 1700." He paused, then continued. "Maybe I could look into the Yorke thing for you? Find a professional?"

"Don't do it, Ammon, it would get us both in trouble. Just to make sure Yorke doesn't accidentally fall into a stake, I'm forbidden to cause him harm, either directly or through the acts of others. I'm fucked."

"Lena, I'm so sorry. As edicts from on high go, this one is pretty horrible." Ammon shook his head, dismayed.

"So, Yorke lives." She practically flung herself out of her chair and began pacing. "I can't kill him. Nobody else in the world has been able to kill him—he even tried to blow himself up and managed to live through it! He's a fucking vampire, an obscenity smeared across the face of the world, and I'm supposed to just sit by and watch him tear people to pieces? I can't stand it! I don't want to know about it! For fuck's sake! C'mon!" Her last words were directed toward the ceiling, and beyond it, in an appeal to the god who was binding her hands.

"So you're hiding from a groom," Ammon shook his head.

Lena rounded on her cousin. "Henry wasn't just a groom, Ammon, he was my stable master. He ate at my table and he warmed my bed and when he stole my best horse and ran off to become a mercenary, he took my heart with him, the miserable son-of-a-bitch!"

Lena's coarse roar of frustration was accompanied by a shudder in the walls. Books shifted and lamps swung gently but nothing fell or broke. Ammon knew how to design and build to suit the particular challenges of Seraphin Nepos.

Lena hands shook as she poured herself another drink and sat back down. She calmed herself before speaking again. "So yeah, I've spent 300 years hiding from my ex-boyfriend. And now I have to get my bola back from him."

"What?" Ammon was lost for a moment, then remembered that detail of her story. "You left it? I didn't realize."

"I couldn't just leave him running loose in Wales. As far as I know he's still trussed up like a Christmas goose." She smiled at the thought. "Oh well, that's no reason to rush back just for that. Mind if I stick around for a few days?"

Ammon raised his glass. "You are always welcome. How about a toast, cousin? To the things that defeat us, scarce as they are. To stable hands and stolen horses. To monsters left unharmed."

Lena finished the toast. "And to a creator with a sick sense of humor."

*salwar—pants with an elastic or drawstring waste and gathered voluminous legs

*ekmek—Turkish bread, a staple of the diet

*samovar—tea kettle typical of the region. It has a large chamber on the bottom in which to heat and hold water, and a small teapot on top in which to brew very strong tea.

*Lucifer—name means 'shining one or morning star.' Lucifer is the archangel who, in Christian mythology, brought a third of the host of heaven into battle against God in an attempt to take over the throne of heaven. He was defeated and cast into the pit of hell. He assumed a new role, as Satan or the devil. The concept of the fallen angel or god appears in several religious and cultural mythologies. Lucifer was said to be the most beautiful of all the angels.

*Humbaba—a monstrous giant in Mesopotamian mythology. He guarded the forest of the gods and was a terror to humans.

*Gilgamesh—in Mesopotamian mythology, Gilgamesh is a demigod of superhuman strength. He is usually described as two-thirds god and one third man.