Amadeo was in that room with the dead body again. He couldn't see the body, just the open coffin, but he knew it was there. Amadeo had the distinct feeling that he'd gone through this before. And he remembered the look of the body.

He moved across the room, walking slowly, maybe a bit lightly, which was the way Amadeo moved. All those childhood dance lessons and all those nights of...well it was that body he was interested in. He was in fact drawn inexplicably toward it. And then finally Amadeo could see the body.

It wasn't clear to him whether it was old or young, male or female. He only knew that it was still and discolored and he must touch it. Amadeo reached out with his right hand, so cautiously, and he felt the cool hard skin of the dead person's face. Then he felt the familiar stirring between his legs and knew for a fact that he had been through this before.

He bit down on his bottom lip and stared with fascination at the body laid out before him. He moved the last step toward the raised coffin and moistened his lips. Amadeo leaned over the body. It wasn't made up, but it had the smell of the mortuary. Amadeo kissed the dead lifeless lips. He felt such overwhelming desire; he moved his fingers through the dead person's hair. He moaned loudly as he kissed the mouth that would not open to him. Stitched closed it was. He tried with his teeth, his tongue, to open the mouth and failed. And then in a single violent movement he pushed away from it and he stood staring at the clumps of hair in his hands.

He became frightened, realized what a horrible thing he had just done. And then he realized he was dreaming and woke.

He was lying awkwardly in his bed still dressed in his day clothes and cold all over even though the room was hot. He pressed his hands against the bed to lift himself and looked around the dim room. The door was closed, he'd left his notebook on-an orange light flashed at him though the screen was dim-and there were several books on the bed beside him, old, careworn, made of actual paper. He moved his tongue out of his mouth to lick his lips. He had a terrible taste in his mouth like something crawled in there and died. If any of the Fay ever had to wake up with him, they might not be so eager to get into his bed. He was, at 25, what they call a Fay Queen and that meant everyone wanted him.

The dream was coming back to him. He knew it too well by now. For months, he had been having it. Now it came with disturbing frequency. It was so vivid, like a hallucination or a fever-dream. (Amadeo never took drugs of any kind if he could help it.) And he remembered the first time he'd had the dream...

Amadeo had got up from sleeping all day (it had almost always been usual for him to sleep in the day) and dressed to go out. And when he dressed, Amadeo dressed up. All the Fay did. Recently there had been all sorts of media reports on the Fay. And there were so many misconceptions. To Amadeo being a Faerie elf was a way of life. He slept 'til late in the afternoon and then put on some well-worn denim shorts and a velvet frock coat to go out to the side walk cafes in The Village or sometimes down in SoHo. His favorite accessories were the favorites of every Faerie, a string or more of faux pearls and an old book. He sat outside drinking chocolate or Coke or tea with honey while the rest of the Fay might drink red wine with honey, never a beer during the day. For hours, they sat talking and reading to each other. When the talked they spoke the Fay, a mutated mixture of Old English and very modern slang.

It was at the cafes that you could find the most Fay bait, those mere humans completely fascinated by the hedonistic, beautiful, and affected youth. They came to the cafes for the purpose of impressing the Fay with offerings of trinkets, baubles, and any old book they could find. It was said -among some Fay and mere mortals alike- all you had to do was place a drop of honey on the tip of a Faerie tongue and they were yours. Most of the Fay were kept by older men and women who sometimes paid for clothing, apartments or even college tuition just to have one of the Faerie.

And why? Because the Fay seemed magic to them. The Fay were known to grant the most exquisite sexual favors for seemingly nothing. And, in a time when having more than one sexual partner was all but forbidden, the Fay were the rebellious youth.

What Amadeo didn't like was no-Fay assuming he was something of a common whore. He wasn't. The Fay had rules. And any of the Fay who was known to break them was considered fallen. They didn't use toys, at least nothing so harsh as the Shiv used. They were always non-violent, though they could be a bit impish. They never took money outright, and getting expensive gifts wasn't important to them; they wore fake jewels. And the Fay were the safest, cleanest, sweetest young people. As far as Amadeo knew, no one had ever caught anything sinister from a Faerie.

Another misconception was that this was a new trend. For all of time, there had been similar groups. And in the past several hundred years there had been near identical groups. Amadeo had heard all about the weirdoes dancing to house and techno. The Limelight was a tradition, much more so than any other New York club, as it had been preferred by the Fay Queens of the most distinguished and long-lived courts for several years now.

It was there that Amadeo dressed to go. That night he put on a pair of red sequined shorts, his sheer white shirt with lace cuffs, and his red velvet coat. He sat at his dressing table and put the curlers into his hair. His hair was down to his shoulders by then and just about rose-colored. And with the curlers setting in his hair he began sculpting his brows and eyelashes with his brushes. He darkened them to black, as they were red. Amadeo smeared pink shadow just over his eyes and then took up a brush to blend some red over that. He streaked his cheeks with blusher and then blended that in too. He glossed his lips and added glitter to his cheeks before taking out the curlers.

He let the curls fall, spiraling ringlets all around; and then he looked up into the mirror. He shocked even himself. It was really no mystery that he may have well been the most desirable creature in the city. He looked at the two bright blue eyes staring out from a seeming mask and forwent the usual lace and clasped several strings of faux pearls around his neck. Then the fake jewels on his fingers and the one real thing about him: a diamond ring on his left pinkie finger.

Amadeo had secured his ID in an engraved silver case made for it that hung on a thin ribbon around his neck. He went out of his room and down the back stairs to the kitchen. He went to the pantry and took out the honey. He touched his finger to the honey inside the jar and then touched his finger to the tip of his tongue. As he put the honey away, his mother came into the room. He didn't say anything to her. He opened the refrigerator and took out a small bottle of Coke.

"I guess you're going out tonight?" she asked.

Amadeo didn't answer right away. He opened his Coke and tilted his head back to drink. He just nodded and licked at his lips.

"To the Limelight? Is Matt going with you?"

"I might see him there," said Amadeo. His mother knew Matt of course, he was a cousin, a third cousin and a Johnson not a Jewel, but Amadeo and Matthew had played together as children and the families were close.

His mother looked almost as beautiful as he did. He and his sister had gotten their red hair and blue eyes from her. Amadeo knew he caused her to worry. She knew he had a divorcee he went to see quite often very close to her own age. "Eat something before you go, will you."

Amadeo just nodded again and opened the refrigerator again. He took out a golden apple. His mother leaned back against the island pretending she wasn't watching him. "Have you been writing anything recently?"

"More short stories," he said and took a bite out of the apple.

"Still writing about Vampyres and witches?"

"We're not witches, Ma. We haven't given ourselves body and soul over to Lucifer and we don't practice Wicca. We're just. . . gifted is all. Besides you know what they say you write what you know."

Amadeo could see that his mother was hurt. "You know I try to understand."

"I know, Ma, I know."

"Take thee care alrhight."

Amadeo laughed, "Thou speakest t Fay well. Il be careful." Amadeo finished off his Coke and threw the rest of the apple in the garbage disposal. His mother frowned but neither of them said anything more.

Amadeo went out to the living room. His sister Amber was sitting on the largest sofa, the one covered in tapestry flowers, with her fiancée Trey. They were sitting with magazines in front of them supposedly for their wedding arrangements but kissing was what they were doing.

Amadeo liked Trey enough. He didn't believe either of them to be sensible people. Amber wanted to teach and Trey wanted to dig up ancient graves. That didn't mean Amadeo didn't love them. He loved his sister a lot; they were twins. "Looking for something?" Amber asked, when she saw Amadeo loitering in the living room.

"Have you seen my sandals?"

"If they aren't in your bedroom they must be in your playroom. The maids came today and they never go in there."

Amadeo just turned and went. His playroom was a real Fay trap. It was a room at the far corner of the bottom floor of the Jewel family's three floor penthouse of the apartment building they owned. He found his sandals on the plushly carpeted floor inside along with his hand fan and a soiled lace-trimmed handkerchief. He sat on the pile of mattresses and pillows to lace up his sandals.

He picked up the fan. Amadeo looked around the room. Used gummy-foils, or Mylar condoms coated in bubble gum colored latex, were still in the crystal ashtray. He emptied them in the wastebasket and wrinkled his nose in disgust. He had been too tired to clean the room last night after he'd spent it with two girles he met at the regular coffeehouse after leaving the club. But they had been so absolutely sweet.