Not until Billy tried to peek down my towel, that is, because perviness apparently survived the grave. Or sang me some old Irish ditty, making up more and more outrageous verses as he went along, until I was in stitches and he couldn’t hold a straight face anymore. Or beat me at cards, levitating them over the coffee table because he could touch things when he really wanted to.

But I couldn’t touch him.

My hand went to his necklace, which I still wore, despite it being hideously ugly and not even having a purpose anymore. A little chameleon tattoo on my wrist hid it from human eyes, and from most non-human ones, too. I could see it, though, and feel it, body-warm against my skin.

But it felt off these days; wrong. I couldn’t feel Billy, buzzing in the background. Even when he’d been sleeping, I’d always been able to feel him. Sometimes, I’d even been able to pick up on whatever he was dreaming about, which had mostly involved girls and booze, but still. I’d found it comforting.

I didn’t find it comforting now. It was an empty house that I dragged around with me because I couldn’t bear to take it off. Billy had passed on to whatever lay after death, transitioning after protecting me one last time, and I had known that I was going to miss him, but I hadn’t expected it to be like this. I missed him, every moment of every day, more than I’d ever thought possible…

And that, I realized, was why I was freaking out.

I’d already had part of my heart ripped out, stomped on, and lost, irrevocably and completely. I would never get Billy back, so I was terrified of losing even more. Of losing Mircea, as I almost had yesterday; of losing my court, who I was more and more fearful that I couldn’t protect against skyrocketing odds; of losing Pritkin…

An icy chill swept over me, even in the heat of the bath, because I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t bear that. I knew it, as certainly as I’d ever known anything in my life.

The incubus thought I was panicking over a lover, but I wasn’t. If Pritkin never wanted to touch me again, I’d hate it, I’d hate everything about it, but I’d be okay. But if he didn’t care about me anymore, if he didn’t love me…

God! I just… I couldn’t… screw this! Screw all of this!