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she wanted to
experience such ultimate vulnerability, more intimate than sex,
with Greg, but she allowed herself to entertain the prospect. It
would be a relief to tell somebody about her nightmares. She often
lay awake in the middle of the night wishing she had somebody she
could call, somebody who could tell her that the dreams of dragon
fire charring her hair and skin were simply that—dreams. She wished
somebody would assure her that he would be her knight, despite her
defensive allusion to the contrary the night before. She needed
somebody to slay the monster that kept her awake, that reminded her
the fire had taken her once and could take her again at any moment.
Maybe Greg really could do that for her.
    “Not tonight, though.” Greg palmed the bottle
cap, and the daydream of safety dissipated. Cora frowned at its
absence. “We’ll make an appointment,” he said, “when you can come
in expecting it. Besides, dinner’s here.”
    Cora glanced toward the front of the shop.
“How do you know? I didn’t hear anything.”
    “You’re not used to the normal sounds.” Greg
smiled sheepishly, pushing off the couch. “And I order a lot of
pizza. I know my driver’s car.”
    He headed into the front of the shop to head
the delivery driver off. Cora sipped beer from her bottle and tried
to convince herself that food was a good thing. She needed time to
get used to the idea of being Greg’s client, and to weigh the
consequences, before she decided. The delivery driver’s
interruption had saved her from impulsive decision-making. She
should be thankful, rather than annoyed, at the interruption.
    “Diane’s trying to get me to a New Year’s Eve
party with her,” Cora said when Greg returned. “A costume thing. It
seems all her social events are in costume.”
    “Dress up is fun.” Greg smiled. “I enjoy it
when I get a chance.”
    “Do you know about the party?”
    He nodded, sliding the pizza box on the table
in front of the couch. “I’m not sure I’ll be attending,
however.”
    “Oh,” she said, disappointed. “I’m not
thrilled at the prospect, but Diane is pushing a social life on me
while I’m here.”
    “You should go.” He sat beside her and popped
the box open. Fragrant steam, spicy with garlic, oregano and
tomato, wafted from the box. “That’s not about belief; it’s about
being with people. Might do you some good to be with people.”
    “I’ll think about it,” she said. “And about
making an appointment with you.”
    “Good. Enough business, though. I’m starving.
Tell me what you do for a living.”
     
     

Chapter Four
     
    December sped by in a blur of activity.
Miranda’s presence was minimal, to Cora’s relief, and she didn’t
once get grabbed and dragged into an alley by a member of the mob.
Diane didn’t ask where Cora went after the spa incident, and Cora
in turn agreed to accompany her to an endless parade of parties.
This one was only a few floors down in Diane’s apartment building.
Cora didn’t object as much because she could escape any time. She
remembered Greg’s encouragement to socialize, and used that
encouragement, as well as the prospect of running into him again,
as motivation to squeeze into a too-small burgundy corset. For
modesty’s sake, she draped her shoulders with transparent black
lace.
    Classical music, with dark undertones to the
melodies, made the event more agreeable than the last heavy metal
affair. By the time Cora had circled the room twice, avoiding
darker corners and the fetish bloodletting going on in them, she
had picked up the pattern of clique clusters. Her eyes even
adjusted to the flicker and stretch of candlelight, allowing noses
and chins to come together into whole faces.
    Cora wasn’t new to this kind of party. Her
childhood was filled with Samhain and Winter Solstice instead of
Halloween and Christmas, and as teenagers, she and Diane had both
wrapped themselves in velvet and lace and flocked to the goth
subculture. That