Vampires 101

Dear Diary, I’m sorry it’s been so long, and I can’t really explain why I haven’t written-except that there are so many things I feel frightened to talk about, even to you. First, the most terrible thing happened. The day that Quatre and Trowa and I were at the cemetery, an old man was attacked there, and almost killed. The police still haven’t found the person who did it. People think the old man was crazy, because when he woke up he started raving about "eyes in the dark" and oak trees and things. But I remember what happened to us that night, and I wonder. It scares me. Everyone was scared for a while, and all the kids had to stay inside after dark or go out in groups. But it’s been about three weeks now, and no more attacks, so the excitement is dying down. Sally says it must have been another vagrant that did it. Milliardo Peacecraft’s father even suggested that the old man might have done it to himself-though, I would like to see somebody bite himself in the throat. But mostly what I’ve been busy with is Plan B. As far as it goes, it’s been going well. I’ve gotten several letters and a bouquet of red roses from "Jean-Claude" (Trowa’s uncle is a florist), and everybody seems to have forgotten that I was ever interested in Heero. So my social position’s secure. Even Relena hasn’t been making any trouble. In fact, I don’t know what Relena is doing these days, and I don’t care. I never see her at lunch or after school anymore; she seems to have drawn away from her old crowd completely. There’s only one thing I do care about right now. Heero. Even Quatre and Trowa don’t realize how important he is to me. I’m afraid to tell them; I’m afraid they’ll think I’m crazy. At school I wear a mask of happiness and control. But on the inside- well, every day it just gets worse. Sally has started to worry about me. She says that I don’t eat enough these days, and she’s right. I can’t seem to concentrate on my classes, or even on anything fun like the Haunted House fund-raiser. I can’t concentrate on anything but him. And I don’t even understand why. He hasn’t spoken to me since that horrible afternoon. But I’ll tell you something strange. Last week in history class, I glanced up and caught him looking at me. We were sitting a few seats apart, and he was turned completely sideways in his desk, just looking. For a moment I felt almost frightened, and my heart started pounding, and we just stared at each other- and then he looked away. But since then it’s happened twice more, and each time I felt his eyes on me before I saw them. This is the literal truth. I know it’s not my imagination. He isn’t like anyone I’ve ever known. He seems so isolated, so lonely. Even though it’s his own choice. He’s made quite a hit on the football team, but he doesn’t hang around with any of them, except maybe Hilde. Hilde’s the only one he talks to. He doesn’t hang around with anyone really, that I can see, so maybe the nark rumor is doing some good. But it’s more like he’s avoiding the other people than they’re avoiding him. He disappears in between classes and after football practice, and I’ve never once seen him in the cafeteria. He’s never invited anybody to his room at the boarding house. He never visits the coffee shop after school. So how can I ever get him someplace where he can’t run from me? This is the real problem with Plan B. Quatre says, "Why not get in a thunderstorm with him, so you have to huddle together to conserve body warmth?" And Trowa suggested that my car could break down in front of the boarding house. But neither of those ideas are practical, and I’m going insane trying to come up with something better. Every day it’s getting worse for me. I feel as if I'm a clock or something, winding up tighter and tighter. If I don’t find something to do soon, I’ll- I was going to say "die."

The solution came to him quite suddenly and simply. He felt sorry about Hilde; he knew she’d been hurt by the Jean-Claude rumor. She’d hardly spoken to him since the story had broken, usually passing him with a quick nod. And when he ran into her one day in an empty hall outside of Creative Writing, she wouldn’t meet his eyes. "Hilde-" he began. He wanted to tell her that it wasn’t true, that he would never have started seeing someone else without telling her first. He wanted to tell her that he’d never meant to hurt her, and that he felt terrible now. But he didn’t know how to begin. Finally he just blurted out, "I’m sorry!" and turned to go into class. "Duo," she said, and he turned back. She was looking at him now, at least, her eyes lingering on his lips, his hair. Then she shook her head as if to say the joke was on her. "Is this French guy for real?" she finally demanded. "No," said Duo immediately and without hesitation. "I made him up," he added simply, "to show everybody that I wasn’t upset about-" he broke off. "About Heero. I get it," Hilde nodded, looking both grimmer and somewhat more understanding. "Look, Duo, that was pretty lousy of him. But I don’t think he meant it personally. He’s that way with everybody-" "Except you." "No. He talks to me, sometimes, but not about anything personal. He never says anything about his family or what he does outside of school. It’s like- like there’s a wall around him that I can’t get through. I don’t think he’ll ever let anybody get through that wall. Which is a damn shame, because I think that behind it he’s miserable." Duo pondered this, fascinated by a view of Heero he’d never considered before. He always seemed so controlled, so calm and undisturbed. But then, Duo knew he seemed that way himself to other people. Was it possible that underneath Heero was as confused and unhappy as he was? It was then the idea came and it was ridiculously simple. No complicated schemes, no thunderstorms or cars breaking down. "Hilde," he said, slowly, "don’t you think it would be a good thing if somebody did get behind that wall? A good thing for Heero, I mean? Don’t you think that would be the best thing that could happen to him?" He looked down at her intensely, willing her to understand. She stared at him a moment, then shut her eyes briefly and shook her head in disbelief. "Duo," she said, "you are incredible. You twist people around your little finger, and I don’t think you even know you’re doing it. And now you’re going to ask me to do something to help you ambush Heero, and I’m such a dumb sucker I might even agree to do it." "You’re not dumb, you’re the perfect lady. And I do want to ask you a favor, but only if you think it’s right. I don’t want to hurt Heero, and I don’t want to hurt you." "Don’t you?" "NO! I know how that must sound, but it’s true. I only want-" He broke off again. How could he explain what he wanted when he didn’t understand it himself? "You only want everybody and everything revolving around Duo Maxwell," she said bitterly. "You only want everything you don’t have." Shocked, he stepped back and looked at her. His throat swelled, and warmth gathered in his eyes. "Don’t," she said. "Duo, don’t look like that. I’m sorry." She sighed. "All right, what is it I’m supposed to do? Hog-tie him and dump him on your doorstep?" "No," said Duo, still trying to make the tears go back where they belonged. "I only wanted you to get him to come to Homecoming Dance next week." Hilde’s expression was odd. "You just want him to be at the dance." Duo nodded. Hilde’s previous remark still stung. "All right. I’m pretty sure he’ll be there. And Duo… there really isn’t anybody but you I want to go with." "All right," said Duo after a moment. "And, well, thank you." Hilde’s expression was still peculiar. "Don’t thank me, Duo. It’s nothing…really." He was puzzling over that when she turned away and walked down the hall.

"Hold still," said Trowa, giving Duo’s hair a reproving twitch. "I still think," said Quatre from the window seat, "that they were both wonderful." "Who?" Duo murmured absently. "As if you didn’t know," said Quatre. "Those two saints of yours who pulled off the last-minute miracle at the game yesterday. When Heero caught the last pass, I thought I was going to faint. Or throw up." "Oh, please," said Trowa, glowering at Quatre, trying hard to hide his jealousy. "And Hilde-that girl is simply poetry in motion…" "And neither of them is mine," Duo said flatly. Under Trowa’s expert fingers, his hair was becoming a wok of art, a soft mass of twisted wonder. And the tuxedo was all right; the dark color brought out the violet in his eyes. But even to himself he looked pale and steely, not softly flushed with excitement but white and determined, like a very young soldier being sent to the front lines. Standing on the football field yesterday when his name was announced as Homecoming King, there had been only one thought in his mind. Heero COULDN’T refuse to dance with him. If he came to the dance at all, he couldn’t refuse the Homecoming King. And standing in front of the mirror now, he said it to himself again. "Tonight anyone you want will be yours," Quatre said soothingly. "And, listen, when you get rid of Hilde, can I take her off and comfort her?" Trowa snorted and glared at Quatre. "I don’t think I approve of that?" Quatre looked innocent and then smiled impishly, "And what makes you think I care what you have to say." Trowa’s glare darkened. "Why you little-" he said, his fists clenching in somewhat mock anger. "Oh, do whatever you want. Hilde deserves some consideration." She’s certainly not getting it from me, Duo thought. He still couldn’t exactly believe what he was doing to her. But just now he couldn’t afford to second-guess himself; he needed all his strength and concentration. "There." Trowa put the last pin in Duo’s hair. "Now look at us, the Homecoming King and his court- or part of it, anyway. We’re exquisite." "Is that the royal ‘we’?" Duo said mockingly, but it was true. They WERE exquisite. Trowa’s tux was a deep forest green, gathered tight at the waist and pouring into two swallow tails down his legs in an old fashioned show of elegance. And Quatre, as he stood up and joined the others in front of the mirror, was like a shimmering party favor in a bright white that was almost glowing, the cerulean blue sash at the waist a stark contrast to the brightness of the rest of the outfit. As for himself… Duo scanned his image with an experienced eye and thought again, the tux is all right. The only other phrase that came to mind was ‘captured shadows.’ They went downstairs together, as they had for every dance since the seventh grade-except that before, Relena had always been with them. Duo realized with faint surprise that he didn’t even know who Relena was going with tonight. Sally and Otto- soon to be Uncle Otto- were in the living room, along with Solo in his pajamas. "Oh, you boys all look so handsome," said Sally, as fluttery and excited as if she were going to the dance herself. She kissed Duo, and Solo held up his arms for a hug. "You’re pretty," he said with four-year-old simplicity. "Girls are pretty Solo, not boys," Duo said and lovingly ruffled Solo’s hair. Solo stomped his foot in indignation and crossed his arms, "But I still think you’re pretty." Otto was looking at Duo, too. He blinked, and opened his mouth, and closed it again. "What’s the matter, Otto?" "Oh." He looked at Sally, seemingly embarrassed. "Well, I just suddenly thought that Sister Helen would have loved to see you all like this, and that got me thinking about Helen of Troy." "Beautiful and doomed," said Quatre happily. Duo said nothing; his heart was too low in his abdomen to speak. The doorbell rang. Hilde was on the step, in her familiar blue sports coat. There was nobody with her. "He’s probably already there, " said Hilde, comprehending his glance. "Listen, Duo-" But whatever she had been about to say was cut off in the chatter from Quatre and Trowa. The two walked toward Hilde’s car and kept up a constant stream of witticisms all the way to the school. Music drifted out the open doors of the auditorium. As Duo stepped out of the car, a curious certainty rushed over him. Something was going to happen, he realized, looking at the square bulk of the school building. The peaceful low gear of the last few weeks was about to slip into high. I’m ready, he thought. And hoped it was true. Inside, it was a kaleidoscope of color and activity. He and Hilde were mobbed the instant they came in, and compliments rained down on both of them. Duo’s tux…his hair…his date. Hilde was a legend in the making: another Joe Montana, a sure bet for an athletic scholarship. In the dizzying whirl that should have been life and breath to him, Duo kept searching for one dark head. Milliardo Peacecraft was breathing heavily on him, smelling of punch and Brut and Doublemint gum. His date was looking murderous. Duo ignored him in the hopes that he would go away. Mr. Tanner passed by with a soggy paper cup, looking as if his collar was strangling him. Sue Carson, the senior homecoming princess, breezed up and cooed over Duo’s tux. Quatre was already out on the dance floor, shimmering under the lights. But nowhere did Duo see Heero. One more whiff of Double mint and he was going to be sick. He nudged Hilde and they escaped to the refreshment table, where Coach Abdul launched into a critique of the game. Couples and groups came up to them, spending a few minutes and then retreating to make room for the next in line. Just as if we really were royalty, thought Duo wildly. He glanced sideways to see if Hilde shared his amusement, but she was looking fixedly off to her left. He followed his gaze. And there, half concealed behind a cluster of football players, was the dark head he’d been looking for. Unmistakable, even in the dim light. A thrill went though him, more of pain than anything else. "Now what?" said Hilde, her jaw set. "The hog-tying?" "No. I’m going to ask him to dance, that’s all. I’ll wait until we’ve danced first, if you want." She shook her head, and he set out toward Heero thought the crowd. Piece by piece, Duo registered information about him as he approached. Heero’s black blazer was of subtly different cut than the other boys’, more elegant, and he wore a white cashmere sweater under it. He stood quite still, not fidgeting, a little apart from the groups around him. And, although he could see him only in profile, he could see that Heero wasn’t wearing his glasses. He took them off for football, of course, but Duo had never seen him up close without them. It made him feel giddy and excited, as if this were a masquerade and the unmasking time had come. He focused on Heero’s shoulder, the line of his jaw, and then he was turning toward him. In that instant, Duo was aware that he actually did look good. It wasn’t just the tux, or the way his hair was done. He was good looking in himself: slender, imperial, a thing made of silk and inner fire. He saw Heero’s lips part slightly, reflexively, and then he looked up into his eyes. "Hello." Was that his own voice, so quiet and self-assured? Heero’s eyes were blue. Blue as the water deep in the ocean. "Are you having a good time?" he said. I am now. Heero didn’t say it, but Duo knew it was what he was thinking; he could see it in the way he stared at him. He had never been so sure of his power. Except that actually, Heero didn’t look as if he were having a good time; he looked stricken, in pain, as if he couldn’t take one more minute of this. The band was starting up, a slow dance. Heero was still staring at him, drinking him in. Those Prussian eyes darkening, going black with desire. Duo had a sudden feeling that Heero might jerk him to him and kiss him hard, without ever saying a word. "Would you like to dance?" he said softly. I’m playing with fire, with something I don’t understand, he thought suddenly. And in that instant, he realized that he was frightened. His heart began to pound violently. It was as if those dark eyes spoke to some part of him that was buried deep beneath the surface- and that part was screaming "danger" at him. Some instinct older than civilization was telling him to run, to flee. He never moved. The same force that was terrifying him was holding him there. This is out of control, he thought suddenly. Whatever was happening here was beyond his understanding, was nothing normal or sane. But there was no stopping it now, and even while frightened he was reveling in it. It was the most intense moment he’d ever experienced with anyone, but nothing at all was happening. Heero was just gazing at him, as if hypnotized, and he was gazing back, while the energy shimmered between them like heat lightning. He saw Heero’s eyes go darker, if it were possible, defeated, and he felt the wild leap of his own heart as Heero slowly stretched out one hand. And then it all shattered. "Why, Duo, how sweet you look," said a voice, and Duo’s vision was dazzled with pink. It was Relena, her gold hair was rich and glossy her skin tanned to a perfect bronze. She was wearing a dress of pure pink silk that showed an incredibly daring amount of that perfect skin. She slipped one bare arm though Heero’s and smiled lazily up at him. They were stunning together, like a couple of international models slumming at a high school dance, far more glamorous and sophisticated than anyone else in the room. "And that little outfit is so…pretty," continued Relena, while Duo’s mind kept running on automatic. That casually possessive arm linked with Heero’s told him everything: where Relena had been at lunch these past weeks, and what she had been up to all this time. "I told Heero we simply had to stop by for a moment, but we’re not going to stay long. So you don’t mind if I keep him to myself for the dances, do you?" Duo was strangely calm now, his mind a humming blank. He said no, of course he didn’t mind, and watched Relena move away, a symphony of gold and pink. Heero went with her. There was a circle of faces around Duo; he turned from them and came up against Hilde. "You knew he was coming with her." "I knew she wanted him to. She’s been following him around at lunchtime and after school, and kind of forcing herself on him. But…" "I see." Still held in that queer, artificial calm, he scanned the crowd and saw Quatre coming toward him, and Trowa leaving his table. They’d seen, then. Probably everyone had. Without a word to Hilde, he moved toward them, heading instinctively for the boys’ rest room. It was packed with bodies, and Trowa and Quatre kept their remarks to bright and casual while looking at him with concern. "Did you see that dress?" said Quatre, squeezing Duo’s fingers secretly. "The front must be held on with superglue. And what’s she going to wear to the next dance? Cellophane?" "Handiwrap," said Trowa. He added in a low voice, "Are you okay?" "Yes," Duo could see in the mirror that his eyes were too bright and that there was one spot of color burning on each cheek. He smoothed his hair and turned away. The room emptied, leaving them in privacy. Quatre was fiddling nervously with the sash at his waist now. "Maybe it isn’t such a bad thing after all," he said quietly. "I mean, you haven’t thought about anything else but him in weeks. Nearly a month. And so maybe it’s just for the best, and you can move on to other things now, instead of…well, chasing him." Et, tu, Brute? thought Duo. "Thank you so much for your support," he said aloud. "Now Duo, don’t be like that," Trowa put in. "He isn’t trying to hurt you, he just thinks-" "And I suppose you think so, too? Well, that’s fine. I’ll just go out and find myself some other friends." He left them both staring after him. Outside, he threw himself into the whirl of color and music. He was brighter than he had ever been at any dance before. He danced with everyone, laughing too loudly, flirting with every boy and girl in his path. They were calling him to come up and be crowned. He stood on the stage, looking down on the butterfly-bright figures below. Someone gave him a scepter; someone put a big goofy crown on his head. There was clapping. It all passed as if in a dream. He flirted with Milliardo because he was closest when he came off the stage. Then he remembered what he and Treize had done to Heero and he broke off one of the roses from a stand and gave it to him. Hilde was looking on from the sidelines, her mouth tight. Milliardo’s forgotten date was almost in tears. He could smell alcohol along with the mint on Milliardo’ breath now, and his face was red. His friends were around him, a shouting, laughing crowd, and he saw Treize pour something from a brown paper bag into his glass of punch. He’d never been with this group before. They welcomed him, admiring him, the boys vying for his attention. Jokes flew back and forth, and Duo laughed even when they didn’t make sense. Zech’s arm encircled his waist, and he just laughed harder. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Hilde shake her head and walk away. The girls were getting shrill, the boys rowdy. Milliardo was nuzzling moistly at his neck. "I’ve got an idea," he announced to the group, hugging Duo more tightly to him. "Let’s go someplace more fun." Somebody shouted, "Like where, Milliardo? Your dad’s house?" Milliardo was grinning, a big, boozy, reckless grin. "No, I mean someplace where we can leave our mark. Like the cemetery." The girls squealed. The boys elbowed each other and faked punches. Milliardo’ date was still standing outside the circle. "Milliardo, that’s crazy," she said, her voice high and thin. "You know what happened to that old man. I won’t go there." "Great, then, you stay here." Milliardo fished keys out of his pocked and waved them at the rest of the crowd. "Who isn’t afraid?" he said. "Hey, I’m up for it," said Treize, and there was a chorus of approval. "Me, too," said Duo, clear and defiant. He smiled up at Milliardo, and he practically swung him off his feet. And then he and Milliardo were leading a noisy, roughhousing group out into the parking lot, where they were all piling into cars. And then Milliardo was putting the top of his convertible down and Duo was climbing in, with Treize and a girl named Dorothy Catalonia squashing into the back seat. "Duo!" somebody shouted, far away, from the lighted doorway at the school. "Drive," he said to Milliardo, taking off his crown as the engine growled to life. They burned rubber out of the parking lot, and the cool night wind blew into Duo’s face.

The stars were distant and ice-bright in the cloudless sky. Duo felt just like them. Part of him was laughing and shouting with Milliardo and Treize and Dorothy over the roar of the wind, but part of him was watching from far away. Milliardo parked halfway up the hill to the ruined church, leaving his headlights on as they all got out. Although there had been several cars behind them when they left the school, they appeared to be the only ones who’d made it all the way to the cemetery. Milliardo opened the trunk and pulled out a six-pack. "All the more for us." He offered a beer to Duo, who shook his head, trying to ignore the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He felt all wrong being here- but there was no way he was going to admit that now. They climbed the flagstone path, Dorothy staggering in her high heels and leaning on Treize. When they reached the top, Duo gasped and Dorothy gave a little scream. Something huge and red was hovering just above the horizon. It took Duo a moment to realize it was actually the moon. It was as large and unrealistic as a prop in a science-fiction movie, and its bloated mass glowed dully with an unwholesome light. "Like a big rotten pumpkin," said Milliardo, and lobbed a stone at it. Duo made himself smile brilliantly up at him. "Why don’t we go inside?" Dorothy said, pointing a white hand at the empty hole of the church doorway. Most of the roof had fallen in, although the belfry was still intact, a tower stretching up high above them. Three of the walls were standing; the fourth was only knee-high. There were piles of rubble everywhere. A light flared by Duo’s cheek, and he turned, startled, to see Milliardo holding a lighter. He grinned, showing strong white teeth, and said, "Want to flick my Bic?" Duo’s laughter was the loudest, to cover his uneasiness. He took the lighter, using it to illuminate the tomb in the side of the church. It was like no other tomb in the cemetery, although his father said he’d seen similar things in some place called England. It looked like a large stone box; big enough for two people, with two marble statues lying in repose on the lid. "Christopher Terry and Lydia Terry," said Milliardo with a grand gesture, as if introducing them. "Old Christopher allegedly founded Terry Lake. Although the Peacecrafts were also there at the time. My great-grandfather’s great-great-grandfather lived in the valley down by Drowning Creek-" "-until he got eaten by wolves," said Treize and he threw back his head in a wolf imitation. Then he belched. Dorothy giggled. Annoyance crossed Milliardo’s handsome features, but he forced a smile. "Christopher and Lydia are looking kind of pale," said Dorothy, still giggling. "I think what they need is a little color." She produced a lipstick from her purse and began to coat the white marble mouth of the woman’s statue with waxy scarlet. Duo felt another sick twinge. As a child, he’d always been awed by the pale lady and the grave man who lay with their eyes close, hands folded on their breasts. And, after his parents died, he’d thought of them as lying side by side, like this down in the cemetery. But he held the lighter while the girl put a lipstick mustache and clown’s nose on Christopher Terry. Milliardo was watching them. "Hey, they’re all dressed up with no place to go." He put his hands on the edge of the stone lid and leaned on it, trying to shift it sideways. "What do you say, Treize- want to give them a night out on the town? Like maybe right in the center of town?" NO! thought Duo, appalled, as Treize was already beside Milliardo, getting braced and ready, the heels of his hands on the stone lid. "On three," said Milliardo, and counted, "One, two, three." Duo’s eyes were fixed on the horrible clown-like face of Christopher Terry as the boys strained forward and grunted, muscles bunching under cloth. They couldn’t budge the lid an inch. "Damn thing must be attached somehow," said Milliardo angrily, turning away. Duo felt weak with relief. Trying to seem casual, he leaned against the stone lid of the tomb for support- and that was when it happened. He heard the grinding of stone and felt the lid shift under his left hand all at once. It was moving away from him, making him lose his balance. The lighter went flying, and he screamed and screamed again, trying to keep his feet. He was falling into the open tomb, and an icy wind roared all around him. Screams rang in his ears. And then he was outside and the moonlight was bright enough that he could see the others. Milliardo had hold of him. He stared around him wildly. "Are you crazy? What happened?" Milliardo was shaking him. "It moved! The lid moved! It slid open and- I don’t know- I almost fell in. It was cold…" The other boys were laughing. "Poor baby’s got the jitters," Milliardo said. "C’mon, Treizey-boy, we’ll check it out." "Milliardo, no-" But they went inside anyway. Dorothy hung in the doorway, watching, while Duo shivered. Presently, Milliardo beckoned him from the door. "Look," he said when he reluctantly stepped back inside. He’d retrieved the lighter, and he held it above Christopher Terry’s marble chest. "It still fits, snug as a bug in a rug. See?" Duo stared down at the perfect alignment of the lid and tomb. "It did move, I nearly fell into it…" "Sure, whatever you say, gorgeous." Milliardo wound his arms around him, clasping him to his chest backwards. He looked over to see Treize and Dorothy in much the same position, except that Dorothy, eyes shut, was looking as if she enjoyed it. Milliardo rubbed a strong chin over his hair. "I’d like to go back to the dance now," he said flatly. There was a pause in the rubbing. Then Milliardo sighed and said, "Sure, gorgeous." He looked at Treize and Dorothy. "What about you two?" Treize grinned. "We’ll just stay here a while." Dorothy giggled, her eyes still shut. "Okay." Duo wondered how they were going to get back, but he allowed Milliardo to lead him out. Once outside, however, Milliardo paused. "I can’t let you go without one look at my grandfather’s headstone," he said. "Aw, c’mon, Duo," he said as Duo started to protest, "don’t hurt my feelings. You’ve got to see it; it’s the family pride and joy." Duo made himself smile, although his stomach felt like ice. Maybe if he humored Milliardo, he would get him out of here. "All right," he said and started toward the cemetery. "Not that way. This way." And the next moment, Milliardo was leading him down toward the old graveyard. "It’s okay, honest, it’s not far off the path. Look, there you see?" He pointed to something that shone in the moonlight. Duo gasped, muscles tightening around his heart. It looked like a person standing there, a giant with a round hairless head. And he didn’t like being here at all, among the worn and leaning granite stones of centuries past. The bright moonlight cast strange shadows, and there were pools of impenetrable darkness everywhere. "It’s just the ball on top. Nothing to be scared of," said Milliardo, pulling Duo with him off the path and up to the shining headstone. It was made of red marble, and the huge ball that surmounted it reminded Duo of the bloated moon on the horizon. Now that same moon shone down on them, as white as Christopher Terry’s white hands. Duo couldn’t contain his shivering. "Poor baby, he’s cold. Got to get him warmed up," said Milliardo. Duo tried to push him away, but he was too strong, wrapping Duo in his arms, pulling him against him. "Milliardo, I want to go; I want to go right now…" "Sure, gorgeous, we’ll go," he said. "But we’ve got to get you warm first. Gosh you’re cold." "Milliardo, stop," Duo pleaded. Milliardo’s arms around him had merely been annoying, restricting, but now, with a sense of shock, Duo felt his hands on his body, groping for bare skin. Never in his life had Duo been in a situation like this, far away from any help. He aimed his heel for Milliardo’s patent-leather instep, but he evaded him. "Milliardo, take your hands off me." "C’mon, Duo, don’t be like that, I just want to warm you up all over…" "Milliardo, let go," he choked out. He tried to wrench himself away from him. Milliardo stumbled, and then his full weight was on Duo, crushing him into the tangle of ivy and weeds on the ground. Duo spoke desperately. "I’ll kill you, Milliardo. I mean it. Get off me!" Milliardo tried to roll off, giggling suddenly, his limbs heavy and uncoordinated, almost useless. "Aw, c’mon, Duo, don’t be mad. I was jus’ warmin’ you up. Duo the Ice King, warmin’ up… You’re getting’ warm now, aren’t you?" Then Duo felt Milliardo’s mouth hot and wet on his face. He was still pinned beneath him, and His sloppy kisses were moving down his throat. Duo heard cloth tear. "Oops," Milliardo mumbled. "Sorry ‘bout that." Duo twisted his head, and his mouth met Milliardo’s hand, clumsily caressing his cheek. He bit it, sinking his teeth into the fleshy palm. He bit hard, tasting blood, hearing Milliardo’s agonized yowl. The hand jerked away. "I said I was sorry!" Milliardo looked aggrievedly at his maimed hand. Then his face darkened, as, staring at it, he clenched the other hand into a fist. This is it, Duo thought with nightmare calmness. He’s either going to knock me out or kill me. He braced himself for the blow. *****************************************************************

Duo saw the moon over Milliardo’s left shoulder. It was strangely fitting that it would be the last thing he ever saw, he thought. The scream had caught in his throat, choked off by fear. And then something picked Milliardo up and threw him against his grandfather’s headstone. That was what it looked like to Duo. He rolled to the side, gasping, one hand clutching his torn tuxedo, the other groping for a weapon. He didn’t need one. Something moved in the darkness, and he saw the person who had plucked Milliardo off him. Heero Yuy. But it was a Heero he had never seen before: that fine-featured face was white and cold with fury, and there was a killing light in those Prussian eyes. Without even moving, Heero emanated such anger and menace that Duo found himself more frightened of him than he had been of Milliardo. "When I first met you, I knew you’d never learned any manners," said Heero. His voice was soft and cold and light, and somehow it made Duo dizzy. He couldn’t take his eyes off of him as he moved toward Milliardo, who was shaking his head dazedly and starting to get up. Heero moved like a dancer, every movement easy and precisely controlled. "But I had no idea that your character was quite so underdeveloped." He hit Milliardo. The larger boy had been reaching out one hand, and Heero hit him almost negligently on the side of the face, before the hand made contact. Milliardo flew against another headstone. He scrambled up and stood panting, his eyes showing white. Duo saw a trickle of blood from his nose. Then he charged. "A ‘gentleman’ doesn’t force his company on anyone," said Heero, and knocked the charging boy aside. Milliardo went sprawling again, facedown in the weeds and briars. This time he was slower in getting up, and blood flowed from both nostrils and from his mouth. He was blowing like a frightened horse as he threw himself at Heero. Heero grabbed the front of Milliardo’s jacket, whirling them both around and absorbing the impact of the murderous rush. He shook Milliardo twice, hard, while those long-fingered fists wind milled around him, unable to connect. Then Heero let Milliardo drop. Milliardo’s face was contorted, his eyes rolling, but he grabbed for Heero’s leg. Heero jerked him to his feet and shook him again, and Milliardo went limp as a rag doll, his eyes rolling up. Heero went on speaking, holding the heavy body upright and punctuating every word with a bone-wrenching shake. "And, above all, a gentleman does not hurt ‘anyone’…" "Heero!" Duo cried. Milliardo’s head was snapping back and forth with every shake. He was frightened of what he was seeing; frightened of what Heero might do. And frightened above all else of Heero’s voice, that cold voice that was like a rapier dancing, beautiful and deadly and utterly merciless. "Heero, stop!" Heero’s head jerked toward him, startled, as if he had forgotten his presence. For a moment Heero looked at him without recognition, his eyes black in the moonlight, and Duo thought of some predator, some great bird of sleek carnivores incapable of human emotion. Then understanding came to his face and some of the darkness faded from his gaze. He looked down at Milliardo’s lolling head, then set him gently against the red marble tombstone. Milliardo’s knees buckled and he slid down the face of it, but to Duo’s relief his eyes opened- or at least the left one did. The right one was swelling to a slit. "He’ll be all right," said Heero emptily. As his fear ebbed, Duo felt empty himself. Shock, he thought. I’m in shock. I’ll probably start screaming hysterically any minute now. "Is there someone to take you home?" said Heero, still in that chillingly deadened voice. Duo thought of Treize and Dorothy, doing God knew what beside Christopher Terry’s statue. "No," he said. His mind was beginning to work again, to take notice of the things around him. The tux was ripped all the way down the front; it was ruined. Mechanically, he pulled it together over the previously bared expanse of flesh. "I’ll drive you," said Heero. Even through the numbness, Duo felt a quick thrill of fear. He looked at Heero, a strangely elegant figure among the tombstones, his face pale in the moonlight. Heero had never looked so… so beautiful to Duo before, but that beauty was almost alien. Not just foreign, but inhuman, because no human could project that aura of power, or of distance. "Thank you. That would be very kind," he said slowly. There was nothing else to do. They left Milliardo painfully getting to his feet by his ancestor’s headstone. Duo felt another chill as they reached the path and Heero turned toward Wickery Bridge. "I left my car at the boarding house," Heero said. "This is the fastest way for us to get back." "Is this the way you came?" "No. I didn’t cross the bridge. But it’ll be safe." Duo believed him. Pale and silent, Heero walked beside him without touching; except when he took off his blazer to put it around his bared shoulders. He felt oddly sure Heero would kill anything that tried to get at him. Wickery Bridge was white in the moonlight, and under it the icy waters swirled over ancient rocks. The whole world was still and beautiful and cold as they walked through the oak trees to the narrow country road. They passed fenced pastures and dark fields until they reached a long winding drive. The boarding house was a vast building of rust-red brick made from the native clay, and it was flanked with age-old cedars and maples. All but one of the windows were dark. Stefan unlocked one of the double doors and they stepped into a small hallway, with a flight of stairs directly in front of them. The banister, like the doors, was natural light oak so polished that it seemed to glow. They went up the stairs to a second-story landing that was poorly lit. To Duo’s surprise, Heero led him into one of the bedrooms and opened what looked like a closet door. Through it he could see a very steep, very narrow stairway. What a strange place, he thought. This hidden stairway buried deep in the heart of the house, where no sound from outside could penetrate. He reached the top of the stairs and stepped out into a large room that made up the whole third story of the house. It was almost as dimly lit as the stairway, but Duo could see the stained wood floor and the exposed beams in the slanting ceiling. There were tall windows on all sides, and many trunks scattered among a few pieces of massive furniture. Duo realized Heero was watching him. "Is there a bathroom where I-?" Heero nodded toward a door. Duo took off the blazer, held it toward him without looking at him, and went inside.