New York City: last decade of the 20th century. These humans seemed to live as if it were the end of the world. On some corner, there would be that person advertising THE END IS NIGH. Like grasshoppers hopping to and fro, or ants toiling to live hand-to-mouth, the rest passed by with little heed, avoiding eye contact.

Mother said that New Yorkers were not so half in love with Death as Californians. New Yorkers favored slow decay.

Morpheus could see the decay over time. Masonry eroding in the polluted air and sea wind. Salt eating the streets and the vibration of constant traffic shaking loose bits away. Synthetic surface wearing against synthetic surface.

Grass grew back; concrete crumbled.

Glass eventually flowed downward and fell loose from its frame.

The Left Coast had their fits and starts, while New York City might sink to its last gasp.

A billion gallons of soft drinking water from upstate glacial reservoirs pumped into the city on a daily basis. 15 million gallons of groundwater pumped out of the city's labyrinth of subway tunnels. Stormwater runoff flowed into the very rivers that surrounded Manhattan. Not to mention all the waste and stormwater flushing through the combined sewers.

How could they enjoy the products of historic glaciation and not be aware of the hazards of sea-level rise? Did they really see time in such linear fashion?

"Are you even listening to me?" Mother asked.

Morpheus savored the last bit of bagel, cream cheese, and lox before swallowing. "Sorry," he said, "I was just thinking about bagels. You know? They let them rise slowly in a cool place and then poach them before baking."

Maybe there was something to New Yorkers liking it slow.

"Why are you smiling?" Mother asked.

"You don't want to know."

"Sigh. Do we need to go over the arrangements, again?"

Morpheus had been half listening. "This is Joy's final lifetime as mostly Human. She thinks she's known you for years and that you, she, and your Human roommate are members of Robert's Pill. Joy plays bass."

Said roommate, Elle Makepeace, was asleep on a couch where Morpheus had sent her when he entered the Brooklyn flat. Elle shared Mother's penchant for black clothes and eyeliner, but was darker of skin and lighter of hair. Morpheus hadn't been formally introduced, but inherited memory informed him Elle had met Mother in the earthly Los Angeles.

She knew about Mother, or at least enough to help keep other mortals at arm's length, so they didn't mistake Mother as a ghost or Djinn.

The actual Djinn, Loren and Hepburn, appeared as Maddalena Ciarrapico and Holly Golightly in stylish mid-century ensembles, as they unloaded shopping bags from East Village boutiques across the river, into the recently acquired flat in Williamsburg.

"Joy's in some closet of an apartment in Alphabet City for now." Morpheus said, "but we know where she'll eventually end up. I guess the point is to minimize damage."

"You probably understand better than me. Jibril only said it was our responsibility to watch her."

Morpheus didn't immediately understand Mother's implication, but there were only so many things he could really be better at. "Oh. Since you and I interacted with Joy in that instance of space-time, neither of us can change that. But, potentially, not having experienced the period between now and then, we may possibly influence how she comes to that. Or at least gather information to use after that moment."

"It's gonna be worse."

Morpheus shook his head.

"If she and I are friends for a decade, then it turns out she isn't OK with being a Vampyre? So much worse."

"We don't know that. I couldn't see it. When I confirmed her location, I couldn't tell. There are too many variables. I had thought—" Morpheus wasn't sure he wanted to bring it up.

"Murph."

"I guess I assumed: if she had a bottle of Vampyre blood in the fridge, and I know a Vampyre from the same area who recognized her name, it must be him. But I didn't see it. From what Splendor and Absidus said, there's a whole—what do they call them? Covens? Broods?"

"Clutch. Clan. I don't know." Mother smiled tightly. "Will you be all right?"

Without her? Or with the temptation of Julien nearby? Morpheus was to watch Joy from afar in whatever disguise brought the least attention, during those times Mother couldn't be near, leaving him time in which to entertain himself.

"I'll be fine." It wasn't as if he'd never completed assignments on his own. Morpheus didn't have earthly needs, except maybe for affection, and people could survive for long periods without that. "Plus, I have River."

He did. Morpheus also had an excellent fictional guidebook to the city, a guitar, and two loyal Djinn.

Morpheus took care of his assigned duties first. He got to know the routes Joy took between home, work and gigs. She had a flat near Thompkin's Square Park, which was closed for construction when Morpheus first scouted the area. Joy regularly walked across town to work, often along St. Mark's and 8th Street, passing The Cube at Astor Place, then cutting south towards Washington Square Park to reach the record store its other side on West 3rd Street.

When Joy was occupied at work, selling vinyl or arguing about musical influences, Morpheus left to explore the city. He took in movies, visited famous pizzerias, and practiced new forms and fashions.

He found shapeshifting aided ability to lift money from the pockets of people about to do foolish things with it, yet if he simply sat along a sidewalk to rest people might toss cash to him. River and his guidebook agreed it likely wasn't legal to ask for money, but sitting outside with a cup implied a need that New Yorkers often met.

There were not a few Humans in need in the city, but sometimes, when Morpheus sat nearby or bent to drop coins in a cup, he met another's eyes and saw they were like him. He found Archon Raziel on Avenue A one day.

Before the summer was ended, Morpheus found his way to enough cash to buy a second-hand acoustic guitar. It had been made by a small overseas manufacturer and must have originally been of fair quality, though it now showed wear. But the finish matched his hair, so it suited Morpheus.

He was able to start busking while Joy was at work. River advised that some cities required permits to perform in public, and the guidebook indicated that NYC required permits to play in some locations or with amplification, but Morpheus didn't see the point. He could cast sleep, or even waking dream into a Human mind; it even seemed righteous to do it to make an escape from fine or imprisonment. Not that police officers could have contained him.

It was just as easy to get lost in a crowd.

Thompkins Square Park was reopened in time to host Wigstock as summer waned. Morpheus had not seen its like since the seasonal festivals of the Achaemenid Empire during his travels with Absinthe, Laudanum, and the Djinn. Loren and Hepburn enjoyed the music, costumes, and attention. To Morpheus, it was an opportunity to not disguise his form.

By then, the Village was thick with students from NYU or the private art and tech schools. They were easy to spot, against the locals in chic black, with their jeans, boots, tees, and flannel.

It was good for Joy, it meant the area bars and clubs had an influx of young patrons to support live bands. It also meant Morpheus had nights free. If Joy, Elle, and Mother were out late at a gig and then at an all-night diner for breakfast, Morpheus didn't have to sit vigil on an East Village street or rooftop.

The City had cleaned up the park only to displaced those who used to shelter there at night.

River was OK with Morpheus liberating funds from people about to buy a fix, but scolded Morpheus when he tried to put Humans to sleep, especially on certain streets at night.

"It's not right to leave them prey for someone else," River said, "especially in a bad way and without cash. They'll wake and trade something else for what they need."

"Yes, Boss." Morpheus used the same title River teased him with. He had to learn to leave the Humans with enough cash to do something a little foolish without leaving them with enough to badly hurt themselves, and yet always keep enough on him to buy someone coffee and a meal.

It was difficult, and things didn't always go to plan, and sometimes Morpheus put a Human to sleep anyway. "At least I know where the sleep comes from. It's natural. It'll take the edge off and they'll wake up thinking more clearly. I'll leave them in a safe place."

"Yes, Boss," said River.

With freedom to explore further parts of the city at night, Morpheus gradually moved west. Different neighborhood, different food, different fashion, different vices.

On one street the most welcome form might be the man dealing drugs, on another a female college student, and on another someone who looked the All-American boy next door, and on yet another an androgynous person in club or fetish gear. The desires and expectations could be curiously specific or disappointingly general, and Morpheus caught on quickly that sometimes it was in his own interest to not take the form others desired.

He developed a reusable disguise, like those comic book characters who had a need to operate in secret: a convincingly Human young man with wavy black hair, grey eyes, and olive-brown skin. Usually it allowed him to enter an area and yet be ignored, but not always.

Morpheus was sitting on the hood of an old station wagon parked on Gansevoort Street, watching the sun set over the Hudson, and how it aligned with the old industrial meat warehouses and made the pitted Belgian block roadway gleam, when someone noticed.

"You play?"

Morpheus turned. The Human standing near the car had light brown coloring and an androgynous appearance; tall and dressed in vintage cocktail dress and faux fur, carrying a guitar case.

Morpheus clutched at his own case which lay behind him. "Guitar. Yeah." He looked around. They were not entirely alone. A photographer was further along the sidewalk, and a box truck was being unloaded across the street. "Is this your car?"

"No. You're cool. You play around here?"

"I just like sunsets."

The Human turned to look along the street. "It's that time of year, isn't it? The Solstice."

"Equinox," Morpheus corrected. "Autumn Equinox. It's somewhat significant to my people, not that I'm the most traditional."

"People." The Human's brown eyes squinted slightly, which Morpheus took to be a studious or scrutinizing gaze likely accompanied by silent questions about his ancestry.

Morpheus wasn't entirely sure how his combination of features might be interpreted in this period. "Ah." He stalled, thinking of several possible answers. "Faerie."

"Radical?"

Morpheus grinned. "Something like that."

"Well, I'm down with resisting societal norms." A hand was offered to Morpheus. "Name's Pedro, but my friends call me Pam."

Morpheus clasped Pam's hand in his. "Tyron," Morpheus gave his middle name.

"Tyron," Pam repeated the pronunciation. "You live around here?"

"You moved in with a guy you just met on the street!?" Mother's usually controlled voice shrieked.

Morpheus looked up from his seat along one of the concrete tree planters to see if Mother's voice had drawn attention. The park was crowded with pigeons, students, street performers, and a few locals accompanying small children or dogs. In New York fashion, they minded their own business.

Morpheus pat his right hand against the body of his guitar. "Not right away. And—" He sighed then looked up into Mother's eyes. "There would be nothing unrighteous about it if I had."

"Morpheus."

"It was OK," River spoke up from his shoulder perch. "Pam knew Murph had been on the street. He offered names of shelters, safe havens, clean restrooms, places to busk."

"But now you're roommates?" Mother barely acknowledged River.

"Yeah. After a month. Just roommates. A studio on West 8th above one of the shoe stores." Morpheus omitted it being an illegal sublet.

"I know that you are not a child...." Mother's whisper trailed to silence. She turned, apparently scanning the park as Morpheus had earlier to see if anyone listened. She screwed up her face. "Elle's coming."

Elle approached with another young woman from the south side of the park, coming along the pavement toward the dry fountain populated by performers and art students. As Morpheus continued to scan, he saw Julien.

Mother's following words barely registered as Julien, Athen, and a couple of young Humans strolled from beneath Washington Square Arch. "...you'll always be my son. I know you can protect yourself. But we're in a Human city; if anyone realizes you aren't Human—You can't hold your form when asleep."

Morpheus averted his gaze from Julien, not that present or future version should recognize him in his disguise. Elle and her acquaintance stepped close—the young woman was shorter than Elle, being of a height with Mother, with a pale, freckled complexion and burgundy hair that looked dyed.

Morpheus changed the subject. "You might know him. His stage name is Toni Toy. He's played some of the same clubs as Robert's Pill. On different nights."

"We've seen his flyers," Elle said. She lifted a cardboard drink holder with four blue and white take-out coffee cups. "It's still hot. I'll set yours down here, Opi."

"No. I'll take it," Mother said, before Elle could reach the edge of the planter. It was probably the heat that allowed Mother to manipulate the escaping water vapor; she managed to hold the Anthora cup in two hands.

"You?" Elle asked, removing another coffee but keeping it close.

"Tyron," Morpheus said. "Yes, please." He took the cup in his right hand, and as Elle stepped back he had a clear view of Julien sitting at the fountain's lip.

Julien was older than when Morpheus had scryed upon him in mirrors, and nearly like his future form, though Human and differently attired. He looked like a waif in a denim ad, but for the blousy, patterned rayon shirt.

Elle spoke, though Morpheus wasn't looking at her. "Seraph volunteered for street team."

Mother nodded, the movement of her dark hair catching his attention as it slipped forward. Mother took one hand from her coffee to gesture towards Morpheus.

"Right. Street team." Morpheus glanced to Mother and then looked to the other two. Seraph didn't wear near as much black as the members of Robert's Pill, but her mix of Doc Martens, funky tights, military surplus and vintage apparel was some kind of alternative fashion. "I was just about to ask Opium if you needed help in the West Village."

"Sure. We've got the Brooklyn Contingent, but no one in the West Village." Elle then held a whispered exchange with Seraph who held a white cardboard box from which they each took selections of flyers, passes, or stickers.

Morpheus only half paid attention, instead he focused across the pavement to Julien. He held a pose, face towards Morpheus, but his hands fidgeting over his thighs as Athen made a sketch. It was afternoon, but the Vampyre showed no signs of difficulty with the sun as he moved his hand over the page or lifted his gaze to his model.

Maybe they only suffered sensitivity to daylight in Fiction? Or, not all Vampyres were equal.

Morpheus felt like a sedative flooded his veins. But it was followed by heartache. The peace of finding beauty so close, then the realization he could get no closer.

Mother's voice entered his mind: They're behind me, aren't they?

Morpheus was afraid to even think their names, not knowing how strong Vampyre telepathy was in general or with Athen. Yes, he thought, my beloved and his boyfriend. He pouted.

Elle offered a handful of printed promotional materials. "You do want them?"

Morpheus shook his head. "I mean, yes. Forgive me; I was distracted." He set his coffee down to take the stack of printed material.

So long as you avoid close proximity and eye contact, and shield your thoughts, Athen shouldn't be able to intercept. Mother made no outward sign of communication and bowed over her coffee as if to smell it or warm herself.

"Do you know them?" Seraph asked, leaning forward towards Morpheus. She tipped her head towards the fountain.

"Not really." Morpheus wondered how obvious his gaze had been and whether, telepathy aside, Athen could sense presences. Hopefully, he'd also figured out Humans and Vampyres weren't the only ones who lived in New York City and a few part-Angels in a park wouldn't cause alarm.

"The tall one is a Fashion major who was in some of my Foundation courses. Justin or something. The girl and the boy with longer hair are in Fine Art. Louis," Seraph emphasized the 's' in Athen's pseudonym, "is a crazy good painter. Obviously uses his friends as models, but that's not unusual for independent projects."

"There are paintings?"

"Student work," Seraph said, straightening. "Except, this former student, Cary Merisi, painted Jordan—whatever his name is—as Saint Sebastian. Sold it to the owner of that Valois Gallery in SoHo."

"The one with the arrows?" But the unbidden image of Julien as the penetrated saint had already formed in his mind. Morpheus must have been helplessly slack-jawed just gaping at Julien. Was it unrighteous he should desire this image in which Julien was an unknowing participant? He had, presumably, agreed to model for the painting, but neither of them could know how this fantasy compared to the original.

"Tyron." It sounded odd to hear Mother say it, though it was among his given names.

Morpheus licked his lips and looked up.

"You want to play anything for us?"

Morpheus nodded several times, grateful for the distraction. He dropped the promos in the guitar case and then adjusted his grip on his instrument. "OK. You might like this." He glanced up at Elle and her black and white band tee. "It's from that Batman movie."

Physically placing fingers to perform the progression of chords was the easier part, given his inherent shifting ability. Recalling the precise order of chords and patterns of strumming in a song, especially when performing for an audience who knew how it should go, was his challenge. But Morpheus had been practicing this one since seeing the movie several months before; performing got easier with practice.

The lyrics resonated with his feelings as he sang; being face to face with someone yet disguised such that they might never know he was there.

⁂

After Street Team business, Seraph said goodbye to return to her dorm. Mother and Elle indicated they were to meet Joy and then prepare for a gig that weekend. It meant, again, Morpheus had free time.

And the temptation of Julien before his eyes; his hair veritably glowed in sunlight.

River spoke again once the Humans had left. "That's your guy there?"

"Well, not yet, but yeah, that's Julien." Morpheus did not know why Elle's friend couldn't be bothered to remember his name. "The artist there is Athen, the Vampyre who will turn Julien, though the Humans know him by an alias. You know, to keep his immortal nature secret."

"He looks so...norm—like a Human."

Morpheus pressed his lips together in a tight smile. "Julien was pretty vague about most of it, but they don't seem to be like movie vampires. If Athen and his father are both ancient it's not like in The Hunger. And I don't know how serious anyone can take Buffy the Vampire Slayer."

"Fun movie, though." They had seen it in a theater over the summer. "Maybe they're like vampires in novels; Dracula or The Vampire Chronicles."

Morpheus shrugged.

River ran from one shoulder to the other. "They have audiobooks."

"I like stories with pictures. Gives me recognizable forms to practice."

"You think Julien knows?"

"I could see Julien's fangs, but I do have resistance to glamour." Morpheus took a deep breath. "Vamps aren't Faerie or Angels, but their bloodlines were spawned by Antediluvian Nephillim. They might have glamour."

"Like Dracula's eye light. The Hungarian Hand Jive."

Morpheus didn't answer immediately. The idea that Athen might have mesmerized Julien was distasteful, but Morpheus couldn't righteously cast so much as an aspersion while he did his own share of befuddling Humans.

The idea of interfering, changing the timeline, was tempting. Morpheus couldn't prevent Julien becoming a Vampyre, since he'd already interacted with him in the future. But, how exactly Julien became a Vampyre was undetermined. The day on which Julien would first meet Morpheus was unknown.

Morpheus stooped to arrange his guitar and promotional materials in his case, as he watched the couple sitting by the fountain.

Their other friends had gone and Athen straddled the lip of the fountain holding Julien's left hand between his. Julien gestured with his right hand as they spoke, then wiped at his nose as if it itched.

"It could be real. Maybe that's what made him sorry. If you're in a relationship with a Vampyre, when does that end?"

"I'm guessing 'death do us part' isn't as likely. Irreconcilable differences?"

Morpheus didn't know what those could be. "There is a gap between the wedding Splendor mentioned and our arriving here. It happened in no time for us, but here: a couple years."

"Long enough for a couple of college guys to

"Yeah." More than enough time for attachment that wasn't a fleeting infatuation or attraction.

Julien stood and then Athen. There was some discussion and gesturing between them; Morpheus inferred it was about which way each would go or maybe about where to meet afterward.

"You going to go after him?"

Morpheus glanced to River; nearly out of focus on this shoulder. "Riv? I can't."

"And I shouldn't tell you to. Not without a reason. This time, see where he goes."

"You're the boss."

⁂

Julien and Athen exited Washington Square Park toward the west, but when Athen continued toward a subway stop with orange letters, Julien left him with a brush of hands and walked uptown.

Morpheus followed at a distance, recognizing streets he sometimes took on his way to the shoebox apartment he shared with Pam. When Julien crossed Eighth Street and continued north, Morpheus thought he might be visiting one of his school's buildings, but he stayed farther west than Morpheus expected.

On West Eleventh, Morpheus put further distance between them, as the number of residences made it less easy to feign interest in a nearby façade should Julien glance his way. He didn't show the awed or lost skyward look of a tourist, but a wary manner. Julien had the pace of a local and his head turned to scan the sidewalk as well as road when he meant to cross a street. He ducked his head occasionally to check reflections in car or shop windows.

Morpheus stopped, pretending interest in a curiously angular brick townhouse between more traditional structures, as Julien stopped a distance along the street. Julien, partially hidden by trees along the sidewalk, stepped to the curb where a red sportscar was parked, then turned back toward a painted townhouse and climbed the stoop.

"Someone's let him inside," River said after a while.

Morpheus had been averting his gaze as much as possible and turned again to the place Julien had been. Slowly, he continued along the street, hoping Julien wasn't quite wary enough to look out a front window to see if anyone approached the house after him.

Morpheus rested against a tree for a few minutes, in case Julien had only been running in for a moment and might soon find them. The car looked too flashy to belong to Julien, but the litter of sketchbooks, fabric samples, and Madonna CDs suggested he was a usual driver.

"He leaves his car here?"

"If I was getting around in a Lotus, I wouldn't park it just anywhere in the city," River said.

Morpheus trusted a soul from Earth knew more about cars than he did. "He couldn't be seeing someone else." But the thought had occurred to him. Maybe he was experiencing envy and not thinking clearly? Could be anyone inside the house.

"Wait here," River said. He leapt from his shoulder perch to the tree and then climbed down the trunk to the sidewalk. His small lizard body slinked to the stoop, climbed the steps, and then scaled the frame of the door to inspect mail slot and doorbell.

River made his way back and reported to Morpheus only when he was safely clinging to his sleeve. "There's just one name: Valois. Is that how you say it? With an o-i-s?"

It was familiar. "The girl who couldn't remember his name. The owner of Valois Gallery in SoHo bought the painting of Julien as Saint Sebastian by one of their fellow students."

"Merisi," River said, having overheard that conversation. "Cary Merisi."

The painter didn't matter so much as the gallery owner who not only owned a painting of Julien but received visits from him. It shouldn't be his business. Morpheus wasn't anything to this past Julien, so he had no righteous expectation to knowledge of his life. But he wanted to know. He could go to the gallery in SoHo perhaps.

"We should move," River said.

Morpheus checked the street for cars then crossed.

"I'm sorry, Murph. This was on me an—"

The door opened across the street and Julien stepped out. He looked back into the house and exchanged cheek kisses with someone. Morpheus only glimpsed the person briefly, obstructed by Julien's presence and in dim light: a petit man in dark clothes with light skin and dark wavy hair.

Julien bounded down the steps to his car.

"I'm following him."

Julien checked his face in the rear-view mirror.

"We've seen enough," River said. His claws penetrated the jacket Morpheus had formed and lightly pinched the skin beneath.

The red Lotus drove towards Sixth Avenue.

Morpheus teleported to the corner and watched the car turn north.

"You can't safely follow a car in daylight!"

But Morpheus could. It just took effort. He had to identify features to copy at a distance, shift form even as he winked in and out of sight, and appear where the person he'd copied had just been, ideally where a structure or vehicle momentarily hid them from view. A few humans might do a double take, but they'd doubt what they saw. No one would know he was there.

A messenger moving to and from a bike rack, a woman in suit and sneakers walking in and out of a revolving door, a man getting into a taxi while remaining at the curb...

Near the south end of Central Park, the Lotus made a right, heading towards Fifth Avenue, which allowed southbound traffic. At the intersection, Morpheus briefly lost sight of Julien's red car while teleporting, but then caught it descending into a garage.

Wearing the form of a dog walker in sporty attire holding an empty leash, Morpheus looked up to scan his surroundings. "I've been here." The view was different, but the position relative to the sphere of the Earth was familiar. "Steven lives here, or will."

"In the Jewel Building apartments?"

Morpheus looked to the lettering over the nearby entrance, which River had obviously just read. "He owns it. Steven. I met him, in the future, when I was younger. He said he knew about Angels and Vampyres. He knew Joy. She'll live here. They have A/C."

River shook with laughter then put the names together. "Steven Jewel. The one always on the cover of The Post?"

"He's famous for being rich."

"I was afraid we were way off mission, but if Steven and Joy are going to know each other...."

"No. You were right. I didn't follow Steven or Joy here."

"Julien. He lives here, too."

"It's some coincidence," Morpheus said in that same sarcastic tone Julien would use, as a dark sedan pulled up in front of the Jewel Building.

The driver's door opened first, and a man­—tall, brown, and dressed in a dark suit and cap—exited. He then opened a rear door and Steven Jewel stepped out onto the sidewalk. He looked much like Morpheus remembered, though his fashionably styled hair was now long at the front and tousled just so.

Steven paused outside the doors and lifted a handheld device to his ear.

There was a loud CRACK, like the sky ripped open, like someone didn't know how to teleport and displaced too much air at once. People on the street ducked or lifted their arms to cover their heads.

Steven fell.

The sound echoed, or it repeated; Morpheus wasn't sure.

He saw in his mind the sparks across his vision and the way Hyacinth dropped to the field. "No." Morpheus didn't know if he'd spoken aloud.

The small weight against his chest told him River sheltered in a pocket. "Gun," said his small, muffled voice. "Get down."

Morpheus didn't know what bullets did to polymorphic flesh, but it probably wasn't lasting. "This isn't right." Steven had to survive this. They'd met in the future.

A form, Morpheus thought, a body Steven wouldn't guard against and he could go over there. It came to him as desired forms had in the mirage. A lanky, pale man with long light-brown hair, wearing a worn olive drab Army jacket.

Disguised, Morpheus ran across the street and dropped to the sidewalk and found Athen was already there. He'd likely used speed or glamour, maybe both, to arrive without Morpheus seeing. A few of the Humans cowering in the doorway looked especially dazed. The Vampyre had his hands pressed to Steven's head and chest.

The chauffeur crouched beside them, brows knit, seashell necklace swaying, and cellular phone in his hand as he relayed the address.

A building security guard called out as the doorman behind him ushered residents away from the doors. "Everyone, stay clear until police and ambulance get here."

"Am I?" Steven spoke.

"Fine," Athen said. "Fisher just wants you to get checked-out."

Steven raised a hand and groped towards Morpheus and grasped his arm. "Joey."

"Here."

"...eyes...."

"Steven, stay with us," Athen commanded.

"Don't look at her, maan...she'll take ya with those eyes of hers, don't look," Morpheus said in Joey's mellow voice.

Fisher, still on the phone, lifted his right hand to perform the Sign of the Cross.

There was a choking sound; Morpheus thought it must be Steven until he realized the direction was wrong. He looked up.

"Oh my Gawd Omigawd omigawdomigawdomi...." Julien had pushed his way from the lobby.

Sirens wooped towards them and Fisher reported to dispatch he could hear they were on the way.

"Don't...change...." Steven rasped.

Athen turned his head. "Jules. Go inside. You don't need to see this."

EMTs approached with a rolling cot.

A pair of powder blue police cars pulled up farther along the curb.

There was a confusion of movement as Athen turned over care to the EMT's, several lightly armored NYPD officers approached, and Fisher stood to greet them.

"Did anyone see a shooter?"

"Ernest and I were outside with Mr. Jewel," Fisher said, gesturing to the doorman. "It sounded like a rifle."

"Didn't see a gun or shooter," Ernest said, "Just the sound and he fell."

Expectant looks from the officers.

"My family hunts," Fisher said.

"The sound was consistent with an object propelled through the air at high speed from a distance," Morpheus said, then remembered to sound more like a Human and Joey, "Yeah, like a rifle, maan...Sir."

One officer turned to relay information through a communication device, while another instructed the group to move inside.

"One of us should stay with Mr. Jewel," Fisher said.

"I'll go," said Athen.

An EMT gave Athen a once-over, likely seeing a kid dressed in black with bloody hands.

"He's family," Fisher told them, "the rest are overseas. He'll honor Mr. Jewel's wishes."

Athen turned toward the door where Julien flinched from an officer's attempt to guide him. He and Ernest spoke at the same time:

"He's Julien Dangerous. He wasn't here when it happened, but he knows Mr. Jewel. It's probably shock."

"Julien, go inside to John. Tell John what happened. He'll know what to do."

Again, the officers instructed the group to clear the area. Athen was already departing with Steven and the ambulance team. At the door, there was a rapping, as the building's guard had previously locked the doors, making it impossible for the group to move inside. Seeing the officers through the glass, the security guard opened the doors.

Julien was slow to move and stood with his arms about his waist looking down at the place Steven had lain. Blood had flown over the concrete, darkly red and reflective where the blood had pooled undisturbed, with jagged edges and a hint of gore along a void with the silhouette of Steven's head, neck and arm. Aside the pool there was a single handprint, where Athen must have briefly planted his palm.

Morpheus thought he should obscure the handprint, but an officer barred his path. "I need you to clear the scene."

Julien sobbed and tears streamed down his face. Clear, Human tears without tinge or transformation.

Morpheus stepped to Julien's side. "Hey, c'mon, let me take you inside."

Julien said nothing, but he turned toward Morpheus—Joey—then shuffled towards the doors. They passed through the lobby without bother, while Fisher and Ernest were ushered aside to give witness statements.

Julien led the way, but paused and stood still before the elevator until Morpheus pushed the up button. He moved almost like a somnambulist, like he was mentally traversing another realm, but Morpheus retained his senses in Joey's body and knew Julien was more or less conscious. His tumultuous thoughts bled from him, so without meaning to pry, Morpheus saw the images in Julien's mind: the walk up from the garage, the gawking crowd in the lobby, Steven lying on the sidewalk, the blood.

Inside the elevator, Julien pressed the button for the penthouse floor, but soon brought his arm back close to his body.

"Here," Morpheus said, removing the Army jacket he'd formed. It was part of his exostructure and as persistent as he willed it. He quickly scooped River out of the jacket as he shrugged another shoulder from the garment. He offered it then to Julien.

Julien briefly raised his downcast eyes to flash a questioning glance but he took the jacket. It fit, though snugly. Joey wasn't as tall as Julien, who now had the same adult, above-average height as his future self, but they were both slender in build.

Morpheus recognized the corridor leading to the penthouses from his very first visit to the Empty World, though the carpet and paint were different. Julien headed to the apartment Steven would live in, moving in the same sleepy shuffling gait. Inside, Morpheus recognized the structure of the space was similar to what it would be: an open space of high ceilings and tall windows, doors to private rooms, and a loft tucked above the kitchen and bathroom.

The furnishings and devices were older. Morpheus knew enough to recognize dark, boxy televisions as distinct from the middling neutral plastic boxes that were personal computers.

Julien climbed the ladder-like stair to the loft where line of sight made it possible for Morpheus to just make out the edge of a reclining Human figure with a curve of a bare shoulder. Male, he thought; probably John, who according to The Post was a frequent companion at large public events and possibly a bodyguard.

"Daniel!" He shouted and sat up.

Julien said nothing but sat down alongside John on the sofa bed.

John raised his hands to Julien's shoulders, to the front of the olive drab jacket. "Julien? You look so like him. What...?" He turned to look down from the loft and looked at Morpheus in Joey's form. There was longing in his eyes—he was enough like Steven in coloring to be mistaken as a brother—that was replaced quickly with something softer that might have been acceptance.

Morpheus knew that expression and feeling when he wanted his version of Julien and realized the one that was close was in no way his.

"Steven was shot!"

Morpheus felt as if his heartstrings snapped. Julien's voice was just so pained and raw. How could anyone not be moved to comfort the young man in that moment?

John was there. He put his arms around Julien and held him.

"Yanno, maan, I don't think it's his time," Morpheus said as Joey. "It'll be all right." He turned towards the door.

"Joey."

Morpheus went to the door.

"Joey! Thank you!"

John had to know, the way Steven had when he wished to see his face, that Joseph Ripley was dead.

---

TEMPORARY AUTHOR'S NOTE: Made additional minor revisions 7 June 2018. Clarified some wording regarding whether this is the first time Morpheus meets Raziel, and how Opium worries for her son; fixed some more typos.

video media (top): "Face to Face" by Siouxsie and the Banshees

inter-scene image: The Lute Player (Hermitage Version) by Caravaggio, c. 1600.