by ROCFanKat

•••

Where she'd come from, I didn't know, but this gorgeous green-eyed blonde had more curves than a Grecian urn, and she was dying to dance. Ever since she'd found out that dancing wasn't allowed, she'd wanted to do it more than anything. Was I interested?

Yes. I was human, with red blood and working parts. Besides, she looked a bit like Cassie, so where was the harm? I smiled and held out a hand to her. Her fingers folded into my grip as though they were made for it. Then she closed all the space left between us. Even though she was a few inches shorter, she was a perfect fit, and every cell of my body suddenly remembered hers. We'd done this before--this, among other things. I was absolutely certain of that.

Dance, she prompted.

Who leads?, I asked.

Excellent point. We tried it both ways and then compromised, more or less swaying together in place. That was perfect.

They'll be coming for us soon, she said, tilting her head back just enough to look into my eyes. We'll have to fight. Will you?

Till Hell freezes, I promised her.

A half-smile flickered on her lips. And then we'll fight on the ice?

That's all right, she said. I know how to use a big stick.

At which I woke up, absolutely furious. Whatever that wine was, I was never touching it again.

Cassie, disturbed by the movement, stirred a bit in her sleep. Careful not to wake her, I smoothed her hair and tried to relax again. Everything was all right; no one was coming for us; it was too early in the season for ice, even in Hell.

But damn, that dream had felt real...and familiar. Something about her had been Cassie, in a way that I couldn't define, to the point that I wondered what she was dreaming right now.

Then again, maybe I'd finally snapped, and no wonder--the human psyche probably wasn't wired to handle a demon, an advertising career, and Cassandra Wolfe all at the same time. In the morning, I'd have to call Dr. Shapiro. Maybe she could check me in somewhere for a nice long rest, before anyone got hurt.

Better yet, I'd call a travel agent; Cassie could use a rest, too. A week at the beach still sounded good, and if we went to Florida, we could stop by New Orleans on the way back. The great thing about that town--besides Cajun food, blues, and voodoo--was license. We could probably go around the Quarter in leather and weapons, if we wanted, and nobody would blink.

Staring absently at the ceiling fan, I started mapping the Quarter in my head, trying to remember where everything was. I was halfway down the Rue Decatur when the fan blades started to turn.

At first, I was merely puzzled. The fan had been off all night. It was still raining, but there'd been no lightning to fool with the electricity. The condo's wiring was a little touchy sometimes, though, so I made a mental note to call the landlord. Meanwhile, it wouldn't hurt to just let the fan run.

All right. Decatur Street. That coffeehouse was at one end, toward the market. The brewpub was across the street from...

Jesus, what was that?

Ghosts in the basement

Screams from the kitchen

 

No, I knew what it was; the question was why it was. I'd played that CD a few days ago, but always, always put discs back in their jewel cases, and the CD player had been off since the weekend. But even if I'd been careless enough to leave the disc in the player and the player on, why would a track start in the middle?

"Devvy?" Cassie murmured.

Trying to get my heartbeat down, so as not to alarm her, I kissed the top of her head. "Hmmm?"

"What is that?"

" 'Blue Guitar.' Go back to sleep."

In the very next instant, everything in the condo came on: lights, major appliances, gadgets and widgets and gizmos of all kinds. Cassie shot bolt upright. I did my best to keep a secure hold on her, just in case.

"What is that?" she asked again.

"I don't know. But I think we've got company, Cass."

She stared at me, not quite comprehending. "That's my pager going off downstairs. I took the battery out."

"Can't be, if you took the battery out. It might be..."

The phone rang.

"I thought you unplugged the phones," she said.

"Stay here," I warned, grabbing my robe and going around the bed. Sure enough, the phone was still unplugged, but it was ringing, and there was something in the Caller ID panel. I leaned over to check. The display read 7734.

"What is it, Devvy?"

"I don't know. Not a phone number."

Cassie got her own robe off the footboard and pressed up behind me, looking at the display around my shoulder. Then she snorted.

"What?"

"It's an old joke. Read it upside-down."

Upside-down? I tried to visualize it...and then saw. "Damn."

"She's back," Cassie said.

"That was my guess."

"What do you suppose she wants?"

"Only one way to find out." Reluctantly, I picked up the phone. "Monica?"

Her laughter purred in my ear. "Did I scare you?"

"No. Where are you?"

"Downstairs. You're lying about not being scared, by the way. Did you like the Caller ID trick?"

"No. What do you want?"

"What do you want?"

"Don't answer questions with questions," I said testily. "I hate when people do that. You're not technically 'people,' but..."

"Neither were you, technically, until I showed up. You really should thank me for it, you know."

"Hang up," Cassie advised.

Monica laughed again. "Don't you want to hear my offer first?"

I turned to Cassie. "Do we want to hear her offer first?"

Evidently not; she took the phone out of my hand and banged it down.

"That won't work," I remarked.

"If she's going to haunt us, the least she can do is haunt us in person. I hate a rude witch."

"Demon," Monica said.

We spun around. Monica was lounging on the bed, looking very much at home. In fact, she was wearing the black silk robe that matched mine instead of her usual black gown--that, and a rather proprietary air.

"We'll have to burn those sheets now," Cassie muttered.

"She's a fighter," Monica told me, approvingly. "You'll need that. You're going to have trouble."

"What do you want?" I demanded.

"What you want. Catch."

My reflexes were working just fast enough to make the catch. "Fortune cookies?"

Cassie sighed. "I hate those things."

"You'll like these," Monica assured her. "Go on. Open them."

Against my better judgment, I did, and handed one strip to Cassie. "I'll bet it says 'SURRENDER DOROTHY,' " she said.

" 'In bed,' " I added.

Cassie smiled knowingly. "Well..."

"Later," Monica snapped. "Read them."

We unfolded the fortunes and compared them. They both said Remember nothing.

"Meaning what?" I asked.

"Meaning that I'm prepared to offer you an out...so to speak. I can make that tape go away. All of it. Including your television debut last night."

"That was your fault in the first place. That'd be like asking the train that ran over you to do it again, only faster. What are you up to?"

She tried to look innocent, or at least as innocent as someone with fangs could. "Very suspicious, Devlin. I come here in good faith."

"That'd be a first," Cassie grumbled.

Monica shot her a look that I didn't like, so I got physically between them. "Let's get this over with. Let's hear the deal."

With a bad word, Cassie pulled me back. "Have you lost your mind?"

"Very likely," I admitted. "All right, Monica--let's have it. And make it short. It's 2 in the morning."

She made it short. The deal was this: She would undo everything she'd done since the night we met, and no one would remember any of it. There'd be nothing to explain, nothing to defend, nothing to keep secret. For all practical purposes, we'd go back to normal. We'd be normal...as far as anyone knew. Monica knew that mattered.

The catch was this: Cassie and I wouldn't remember either.

"No deal," Cassie said instantly.

"Not so fast," Monica told her. "Think it over. You have no idea what you're in for."

"I know what I'm in for."

For some reason, Monica found that amusing. "It can get worse, Miss Wolfe. I could visit a few other people before morning. They might wake up with some very interesting ideas."

"Don't waste your time. Jenner doesn't have two brain cells to rub together, much less to start an idea with."

"I like vacuums. Nature abhors them, but I've always found use for them. And your Mr. Jenner is as vacant as Macy's on Thanksgiving morning."

Caught off guard, I laughed. Cassie gave me a sharp nudge.

"Sorry," I said, and then turned to Monica. "We're not interested in any deal. We'll take our chances."

"You'll regret this," she warned.

"Maybe. But tell me something. Why would you make this offer in the first place?"

To my surprise, she smiled without malice. "For old times' sake. To save you some pain. Call me a sentimental fool."

"Speaking of pain," Cassie said, "I don't know whether you bleed, but if you're not gone in 10 seconds..."

Her smile changed slightly. "Devlin may have been a bad influence on you."

"The worst. Now get out of here."

"I could make you fat," Monica told her, a devilish glint in her eye. "Or flat, in certain places. I could even..."

"Enough. Both of you."

They both fell silent and glared at me, equally annoyed. Interesting.

"Let's call it a night. We've got a long day tomorrow, so Monica, let yourself out. Turn the lights off again when you leave, if you don't mind."

"You haven't said yes to my offer, Devlin."

"No, because the answer is no. Thank you, but no."

"You'll regret this," she repeated. "But I'll leave you an out, just in case you change your mind. If either of you wants to accept, all you have to do is say so. I'll hear you."

"Good night, Monica," I said.

She shook her head, and then she was gone. All the strangeness went with her, and we were standing in a dark, quiet bedroom with a ceiling fan slowing to a stop.

"It was bad enough dating divorced daddies," Cassie said, conversationally. "Then I had to go and get involved with someone who has a demon."

"And I had to go and get involved with someone who talks back to her. C'mere."

She held the kiss longer than I meant it to last--so long, in fact, that we almost fused. Then she tilted her head back just enough to look in my eyes. She was almost as tall as me, but suddenly, she felt a bit smaller.

"Have you ever had blue eyes and a sword?" she asked.

"Not to my knowledge. What kind of question is that?"

"I don't know. I was having the strangest dream, and you just reminded me of it."

Carefully, I held her off a bit, to get a better look at her. It was dark in the room, except for some spillover light from the streetlamps, so I couldn't be sure. But for a second, I would have sworn that her eyes were green.

"What?" she asked.

"Were we dancing in this dream?"

"Not exactly. It was against the law or something." Now she was sizing me up. "You looked different, but it was you."

"It was probably one of Monica's tricks. She works that way sometimes. She used to give me the same dream every night for weeks."

"Well, this one, I'll take. You were a lot more aggressive. I liked it."

My eyebrows shot up.

"It was kind of sexy," she continued.

I thought about it for a minute. "Blue eyes and a sword, huh?"

"You won't need the sword right now," Cassie said, "and I suggest that you close your eyes."

•••

(c) 1999, ROCFanKat

"Blue Guitar," lyrics by Townes Van Zandt and Michael Timmins, music by Michael Timmins, is (c) 1998 by Paz Junk Music/Zomba Songs Inc. and Bug Music. The song is from the Cowboy Junkies CD Miles From Our Home ( (c) 1998 Geffen Records Inc.) and is quoted here without permission, because I love this band. :) . No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is involved.

The dream sequence borrows from "A Tale of Two Muses" (Season 4; see the standard "X:WP" disclaimers) and from "When We Dance, Who Leads?" by LZClotho, (c) 1997, which appears on the Fanfic section of this site and on Clotho's own site

Continued - Part 9