When we finished eating, I expected to go back to my room.  Instead, Michael said, "I've got something to show you."

"What is it?" I asked.  I was curious.

"You'll see," he responded mysteriously as he lead me away from the restaurant.

I thought we would go outside, but instead he took me to the elevator.  He hit the very top button and we began to move.

When the elevators doors opened, it was into a small room which had a door opposite the elevator.  Through the window in the door I could see the sky.  We were on the top of the building.

"Come on, little girl," he said and I did.

Michael punched a code into a numbered pad and then opened the door.  Michael led me to the edge.  There were safety bars around the sides of the roof running higher than my head, so I was obviously safe, but it was still terribly high.  I moved forward slowly.

"Look at this," he said, as he moved his arm in a sweeping motion.

I did.  The sky was getting dark, but there was still some dull color against the horizon where the sun had set.  Closer than the horizon, I could see a sea of black grey buildings stretched out before me.  The darkness of the buildings was relieved by uncountable lights.  Even the tower was covered in them.  It was breathtaking.

"La Ville-Lumière," he said, and his voice sounded reverent.  "The city of lights."

"It's beautiful," I agreed and I thought maybe I understood how he felt in that moment.  "Is this why it's called that?"

He chuckled and it did not annoy me this time. "It's called that partly from the introduction of street lighting and partly due to the enlightened thinking of the city."

"It really is amazing."  The words seemed inadequate.

"Yes," he agreed.  I felt at ease with him here, high above the world.  Perhaps this was why I stayed on his island all this time; why I had been so reluctant to leave and cut ties.  The people there felt more like my family in some ways than my biological relatives and Michael was so terrible and yet inexplicably so...

A strong gust of wind blew towards us and I felt cool.  Perhaps I had become too accustomed to the muggy heat of the island.  I turned to Michael to suggest that we go inside, but before a word could leave my lips, Michael spun around. 

His body was tense. 

Something was wrong.

"Paul," he said.  The name was a curse; his voice was deadly serious.

Though I had little thought of Michael's dark counterpart in recent months, the very mention of Paul's name made my heart thump frantically. 

My first thought was to flee towards the door, but I could not bring myself to leave the feeling of safety of hiding behind Michael.

"You have always had good hearing."  Paul's voice reached my ears through the howling wind.

He stepped out from behind the walls enclosing the stairwell.  "I knew you would come up here."

"I should have known.  You set foolish that ridiculous man up to blackmail me, didn't you?  Trying to lure me out?  And here I believe you were against using innocents in these matters.  How hypocritical."  Michael's smile was cold, but I sensed no fear in him.  I held on to the fraying edges of my calm.

"He was already on the path; I simply adjusted his direction," Paul said.  He seemed unconcerned by the charge against him.

"What, was he blackmailing you?  You needed my help?  Couldn't take care of your own problem?"  Michael asked with a harsh laugh.  "You're as weak as ever, Paul."  I wished that Michael would stop with the banter and get us to safety.

"As are you."

Michael ignored that.  "This place is mine.  Leave now and I will allow you to live."

"No, Michael.  You've been a blight on the earth for too many years.  It's time to end everything," Paul's voice was steady and calm.  The unfeeling tone sent shivers down my spine.  Why were these two so determined to fight?

"You've been a blight on my life for too many years.  Ever since the beginning.  I welcome your end," Michael agreed.  He still looked calm, but I noticed his body tense further in readiness.

I noticed four more people come around the building, one carrying a briefcase.  "Michael, we're not alone," I said.

"I know, little girl."

Two more followed them.  I noticed that the last two openly carried guns although I would not have been surprised if the others were hiding weapons as well.  I wished I had the gun that Jack had given me although even if I did have it what could I have done against so many?  Were they human or were they like us?

All seven people were gradually moving closer.  I could feel my panic threatening to overwhelm me.  There was nowhere to run with the line of bodies in front of me and the city streets beyond the safety bars so far below behind and below.

"Damn you, Paul.  Does your trespass know no bounds?" Michael asked.

"I'll make you a deal.  Hand yourself over and we'll let the girl go.  Is she not important to you?" Paul asked.

"As important as she is to you.  I'll never hand myself over, Paul," Michael said.  His voice was almost casual and it sent a chill of fear rushing down my back.  "Rather, I will destroy you and all these little friends of yours.  Where did you find them?  Don't you usually operate alone?"

"I do, and I've tried to end you life more often than we can count over the centuries and have failed, have I not?  I'm trying something new.  You've always enjoyed novelty.  Alone I cannot reach you while you hide behind your webs of protection."

Michael looked irritated.  "I've never hid behind it.  There was never a need.  You were never such a coward as to gang up on me before."

Paul sounded weary.  "Where did such honor get me?"

While they spoke, Paul had continued to move closer, until he was so close I could see his chest moving when he breathed.  He was almost completely still, then so quickly I could hardly see what had happened, he attacked with a crushing blow towards Michael's face.

Michael dodged and kicked towards the Paul and the two began fighting and dodging, so quickly it was almost like a coordinated dance.

"Still trying that?  You never learn, do you?" Michael laughed between blows.

"It is ever the same with you."

The dance continued until Paul finally landed a blow to Michael's stomach that knocked him backwards and then slammed a punch into his face.  I heard a sickening crunch. 

Paul kicked Michael and Michael slammed into the rooftop.  Before he had landed, three of the men with Paul surged forward and pinned Michael to the ground.  I could see Michael struggle, blood streaming from his nose, but he could not get up.  The man with the briefcase set it down and opened it with a click.

The click seemed to snap me back to reality and I realized two things at that moment.  The first was I was still frozen right where I had been standing when Paul had appeared.  The second was that no one was paying the slightest attention to me.  I could still escape probably, right at that moment.  I slowly began move towards the door.

Paul's voice caught my attention.  "This won't hurt at all, Michael.  It's a better death than many of your victims have had."  I saw he had a syringe in his hand.

How could I leave Michael like this?  He would die.  I saw that one of the gunmen was standing close to me, staring at Michael's prone form.  I had been thoroughly disregarded.

I did it without thinking.  I kicked forward, in one of the ways Jay had forced me practice repeatedly.  I had practiced until I was so sick of it I never wanted to do it again, until it was second nature.

The gun flew out of his hand.  By some miracle, I, the clumsiest vampire god whatever in the world managed to catch it while it was still in the air.  I wondered if I should thank Bob for the reflexes.

The gun was not what Jay had shown me and I did not have time to figure it out so I threw the gun at the other gunman's head.  Another miracle, I hit him full on in the face.

All of Paul's other minions were focused on me now and I knew I had been stupid not to run.  Paul the only one still completely intent on killing Michael.

I saw him glance up.

"Restrain her," Paul ordered.

The one who had carried the briefcase came towards me and I tried to kick him.  One of the men who had been restraining Michael joined him.

"Damn it!" I heard a shout.  I glanced over and saw Michael was up and fighting again.  I felt relief at the sight.

In the seconds my attention was diverted, I was grabbed from both sides.  My arms were pulled uncomfortably behind my back.  I struggled, but could not move.  I was overpowered so all I had left that I could do was hope that Michael would prevail.

Michael kicked Paul backwards and then slammed his head into the last minion.

Then Michael sprinted towards the door to the stairs without even a single look in my direction.

"Michael!  There's no point in leaving!  My people are everywhere!" Paul yelled after him.  "Michael!  Come back and I'll spare Dylan's life!" he yelled again.

The door swung shut behind Michael.  I felt more alone than I ever had.  Just me and Paul's thugs and my own stupidity.

I should have run when I had the chance.

"Leave the girl, go after him!" Paul ordered.  As I was released I lost my balance and fell forward.  My knees hit the rough surface of the roof, but I did not care. 

Michael had left me.  He had abandoned me.  I could feel the pain of that betrayal rush through me and all the worse because I should have known better.  I had always known what Michael was, how could I have forgotten?  How could I have been so willfully blind?

I felt tears falling down my cheeks and I tried to make them stop, but they continued no matter how many times I swiped them away. 

He had betrayed me.  I hated him more in that second than I had hated anything in my life.  I hated him more than my father, more than being pressured and controlled. 

He had left me again at the mercy of Paul.

Yet, surely Paul had no mercy.  Paul would kill me.  Why should I die for Michael?  I buried my despair in my determination to survive and I scrambled towards a gun that must have been hidden on one of the men.

I clutched it and I surveyed the roof.

It was only Paul and I left there.  Our eyes met.

I held up the gun in front of me and pointed it directly at Paul.  Paul looked calm.  There was not a trace of visible apprehension or fear, just a weary acceptance.  I would have been terrified in his position.  I was terrified in my position.  I clung to the gun for dear life, kept it as straight as my quivering hands could manage.  I was so glad Michael had forced me to learn how to use one from Jay.

Yet that same Michael had left me.

I felt the pain of Michael's betrayal wash through me again.  The feeling was like a frozen wave sweeping through my insides.  It was getting worse, not better.  I told myself to focus on Paul.  I saw him take a step closer.  I gripped tighter and tried to look like I was the one in control of the situation.

"So where has Michael been hiding?" he asked me.

"I'm not telling you that," I snapped.

"You still defend him, even though he abandoned you to your fate?  Or was this part of the plan?" Paul asked.

"How could it be part of the plan when you ambushed us?" I muttered.  It was not part of any plan I knew about, but when had Michael ever told me the whole truth?  Only a fool like me would fall into trust with such a matter of deceit.  I had thought I had grown up, but I was no better than that silly little girl who idolized her father years before.

A tired half smile hid across his face.  "It has always amazed me how Michael could inspire loyalty in people.  Even before we were infected, he drew people to him."

"Infected?" I repeated, in spite of myself.

"Yes, infected.  Now, why don't you put down the gun?  I have no intention of killing you now."

"No."  I was going to take care of myself, there was no way I could trust anyone.

"Very well.  Then I'm going to sit back for a minute.  I'm just tired.  Please don't shoot me."  He did not sound like he cared whether I shot him or not, in spite of his words.

I watched him as he moved back against the wall and sprawled against it.

"He has done this before," Paul said, a note of age old weariness creeping into his tone.

"What?" I asked, eyeing him warily.

"Infected girls who look like you."

"Like me?"  I paused.  The gun wavered in my hand.

"Yes.  We have been playing his game for so very long.  He runs, I follow.  I lose the trail, eventually he leaves a clue.  Maybe it's the next year, maybe it's the decade.  He always comes back for me."

I swallowed past my unease.

"Oftentimes the clue he leaves will be rumors, a sighting, a picture in a paper, or a note.  Sometimes it is a body.  Other times that clue is a scared young girl.  Perhaps her eyes are shaped like yours, or she might have similar facial structure.  Maybe her hair is familiar, or sometimes she is simply around your age.  It's always something.  He picks those that are the hardest for me to deal with," he spoke, his every word and gesture a sign of grim resignation.  In spite of his youthful appearance, he seemed ancient.

I wanted clarification on one point.  "Deal with?"

"Yes.  Deal with."

"And what do you mean by that?" I asked, already knowing the answer.  I leveled the gun slightly while I waited for his answer.

He was watching what I did.  His smile was sad.  "You're right.  I ended their lives."

"So you are going to kill me!" I accused, holding my weapon more tightly.

"No, I am not going to kill you.  This time I was simply trying to bring Michael down," he explained slowly.

"Ha."  I was not going to believe this homicidal jerk when I had just learned my lesson in trusting that other homicidal jerk. 

I felt another wave of painful self-pity for my foolishness.  I pushed it away because I did not think I could bear all the feelings drowning me.  I would be truly pitiful if I died because I was sidetracked with feeling sorry for myself.

"You can believe what you like, Dylan.  I should have killed you, just as I killed all of Michael's other sacrificial lambs, but I couldn't bring myself to.  There are too many memories.  I commit the same sins over and over, but it is infinitely worse because I should know better; I should be stronger.  I am not the boy I once was.  Yet it seems I ever am."

"I don't want to die," I told him, going over his last words in my head.  "Why should I believe you won't kill me even though you've just admitted to murder?"

"It's true, but you can't know that.  You can only trust me."

Yeah right, like I was going to trust this guy.  I should have known better than to trust anyone.  "I won't."

He shrugged, but once again he did not seem to care.  "Come with me, Dylan.  We'll go to my home and I'll tell you everything.  All the things that he has kept from you."

At that moment someone I did not recognize came out onto the roof, but I was too lost in my thoughts to care.  Everything?  Would he really?  In spite of my emotional fatigue and my looming despair over Michael's betrayal which would consume me if I but let it, I could also feel an old familiar spark glowing brightly inside me.

I heard the unknown person say, "He escaped."

"Again," Paul replied wearily.  He said some other things I barely heard, but I was still focused inside of myself on a feeling so much preferable to pain and rejection.  The stranger left again.

I was curious.

Perhaps, if I took this risk I might die at Paul's hands.  Or, perhaps, I might finally get my answers.  The answers to all the things Michael had hidden from me.  I had let myself be distracted from my questions; he had manipulated me into releasing them from my mind with his engaging manner, his teasing, and his power.

The truth had stared me in the eye, but I turned my face away.  I had escaped from my father's oppressive influence only to fall straight into Michael's.

And even worse, there was a part of me that had relished the thought of having someone taking care of me again, someone swooping in and saving me from my troubles.

Michael had done all that.  He had saved me from my poverty and carelessly made me immortal.  He took care of my needs and removed me from the nondescript existence I had barely maintained on my own.

He had saved me from my self-imposed loneliness.

I knew then I was truly pathetic.  Another feeling of disgust for myself and my weakness, even stronger than the hurt I felt over Michael's betrayal swept through me.  More than by Michael, I had been betrayed by myself.

I had for a short time tried to take care of myself, but as soon as he had come I had allowed him to take over.  Sure, I had made a pretence of arguing with him, but only over the little points, the things which would not cause a stir.  Even my faint sad resistance had only been for a little while.  I had become Michael's puppet, the jester of King Michael's court.

There was only one way.  I had to cut the strings and stand on my own again.  It had to be possible for me to do that still.

I looked at Paul, who was still sitting in the sights of the gun in my hand.  He was making no effort to escape; rather he was watching me through weary but all too knowing eyes.  I wondered what else he knew.

"Perhaps we should leave here," he suggested as if he could read my mind by looking at my face.  His voice was as calm as if he were commenting on the weather.

"Why?" I wondered what his game was.

"Before anyone comes.  The police will have probably been called."

"Who cares?  What will they do?  Aren't we gods?" I asked him snidely, my tone dripping with beautiful sarcasm, my trusted ally.

He half smiled, but did not look happy.  "We're about the farthest thing from God."

I had been mocking, but I could clearly hear Michael's words the day he had told me we were more than human, that we were gods.

I had known I was never a god.  I was pathetic even by standards of the vampires in books.  What was I truly?  Would Paul know this too?

"I need to know."

"Then let's go.  I feel a need to tell you.  Perhaps because you have been drawn farther down this twisted path than anyone before you."  It was a dark thought.  I felt a shiver run through me, whether from the wind or unease I could not know.

"Okay," I agreed recklessly.  We both stood up.  I looked at the gun in my hand and wondered what I should do with it.  I probably should keep it trained on him, but he did not care if I shot him anyway.  Could I leave it?

"Bring it along," he said, reminding me of Michael's uncanny ability of knowing what I was thinking.  "Your fingerprints will be on it."

"Yeah," I said, but imagined carrying it out onto the street in my hand.  But I certainly was not handing it to Paul.

"Do you have a car?" I asked as we walked through the door and onto the elevator.

"Yes."

As I followed Paul, I knew going with him was foolish, but I needed to know. 

I would never see any of the collection of people who had become my friends again and the thought shot pain almost as fierce as Michael's betrayal through my heart.

I was losing so much I had come to treasure.  I would never eat Pierre's cooking again, or give Tara whatever I had bought her.  There was no possibility of ever seeing Alicia come out of herself again.  I would never be able to loath Elizabeth in all her stuck up glory in person.

I had to replace them with answers.  It was a cold comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.

As Paul began to drive, I vowed to never shed a tear for Michael again.