Even so, the kill lacked adventure; it served its purpose, and merely confirmed my instinctive feeling that a greater conquest—an exercise of my supreme talents—yet waited.

But then the child was dead and I needed to remove the carcass from my presence.

The boy’s hand-hewn coffin. A perfect repository. I crawled from my space, pulling the corpse with me. I quickly undid the catches and dropped the body in, then refastened them. I heard the restlessness above. While the child held my total concentration, I had let lapse the music for those above. And now they were aware—free and restless.

Come, then, and let this be over between us. I sat on the edge of the box, tapping the worn tip of my cane on the concrete floor, waiting. Come, boys. Come to Angelina.

They came. They walked through the kitchen; I could feel their hearts pounding. They hesitated at the door; then it opened, and a flashlight swung down over the stairs. I was bored with them already. The warmth of the child’s blood flowing through me made me want to stop all this, made me want to rest, to sleep.

Then the bare bulb flashed to light, momentarily blinding me, but I recovered quickly, and when I could again see, the two were crashing down the stairs.

I stood, cane in hand, ready to face them both.

Boyd came toward me first, the boy in his shadow.

“Angelina?”

“Hello, Boyd.”

“Angelina, what’s happened to you?”

“I’ve grown up. Matured. And you?”

“Grown up? Look at you. You’re a mess.”

Insecurity flashed through me, and the music came up automatically to protect my vulnerability. I couldn’t afford to dwell on it. In a moment, I was back in control. “I have what men have searched for throughout the ages.”

“What’s that?”

“Eternal life.”

“Where’s Amy?” The boy spoke from behind Boyd.

“In the coffin you built for her. Convenient disposal, thank you.”

“Oh, Angelina, knock it off.” Boyd’s abruptness was inconsistent with the memories I had of him. “Do you like this lifestyle you’ve chosen?”

Like it? He didn’t understand.

“You don’t, do you?”

I looked at him, I watched the boy peer at me from around Boyd’s side. He prodded Boyd, who gritted his teeth and elbowed back at the kid.

“Come with me, Angelina, and we’ll take care of you. We’ll give you everything you need—”

“No! Kill her!” The boy lunged at me.

I stabbed him with music and he dropped to his knees. Boyd bent to his aid, then looked back at me. I relaxed my stance, eased the boy’s discomfort, readied myself against Boyd. We stood no more than six feet apart, glaring at each other, antagonism pouring forth, for a long moment. The boy held his stomach and moaned.

“You all right, Will?”

“He’s all right,” I answered for him.