The beauty of the dream had made me forget, mercifully yet far too briefly, everything that preceded my fall into blissful oblivion. But how much of it had only been a dream? I couldn’t remember exactly what had happened in the alley, the memory was already so hazy and filled with gaps… Why had I gone off by myself? Something about Bree? Had she been there? Someone named… Kigawe? That couldn’t be a real name, could it?

One thing though was blazing crystal clear in the eye of my mind—the horrible memory of those frat brats, reeking of their body spray and tanning lotion. The thought of them, the hideous knowledge of their very existence, made me shudder. I must have made a sound, because at that moment, he spoke.

“You’re awake.”

It was Riley, his voice like a thousand cellos made of gold. The sound made me shiver in a very different and unfamiliar way.

“Riley? Is that you? What’s…” I nearly finished the sentence… going on? But I didn’t want to sound like a hysterical girl, to look a fool before him. “What’s… up?”

He made a strange sound, somewhere between a chuckle and choke. “What is up, young one, is this: you disgraced yourself last night.” The words, though spoken softly, percussed me like a backhanded slap. He continued, “You imbibed the spirits of the grape in quantities far too great for your slight flesh. You wandered from the protection of your group, like an idiot wolf cub who misplaces her pack, and you allowed that…”

He made the strange sound again, and when next he spoke, his voice was harsh as diamond on steel. “You allowed that… filth, that vile scum, that muck that I would sooner scrape from the heel of my boot—”

There was a great sound, like a large piece of wood splintering, as though he had lashed out at something in violent anger with the need to wreak destruction however inconsequential. His motion set me to rocking, and I realized we were on a water vessel of some kind. The fading echoes of the sound implied a great, cavernous space around us.

Riley was silent for a long time. Perhaps it was only my imagination, but it seemed that his being and mine were in some kind of synchronicity, set off by the rocking of the boat. I could feel the tension in his body, so very close to mine. I could sense him trying to seize control of some great and overpowering emotion. I could feel the clenching of his muscles, the grinding of his teeth, the burning in his heart. And I experienced, just as I imagine he did, the slow slackening of his rage, the careful and deliberate cooling of the fire, the return of normal pace of breath.