PROLOGUE
Anality awoke with a gasp of terror which stole her breath. "Alayza!" she managed to choke out. Immediately the red haired girl was by her side.
"Lity, whatโ?"
"A vision," Anality gasped.
"A second one?"
"Yes. The prophesized, my half-sister, will not only save the clan. But all others of our kind. All others."
Alayza gasped in surprise. "Allโ? But how?"
"I cannot say," Anality rasped. "Bring me parchment and ink. There is something I must do."
"But Analityโ"
"Go!" Anality insisted. Alayza nodded reluctantly and left the room. Anality drew a shuddering breath and broke into a coughing fit. I made my choice so that I would not have to worry about time, she thought. But it looks as if time has finally caught up with me.
Alayza returned then with what Anality had requested. Anality wrote for several minutes before handing the paper back to Alayza. "Put it on meus capulus," she said softly. "Do you see who it is meant for? Yes? Good. Be sure that only her eyes ever see what is said. I told her to trust you, Alayza. I know she can." And with that Anality drew her final rattling breath... and died.
SIXTEEN YEARS LATER
Amanda shivered slightly in the chilly October air. Of course, it didn't help that she wore a halter top and her skimpiest skirt. Hey, she needed the money, and she wanted to look good for the customer. I'm studying, she told them. I have friends to see. Her parents would kill her if they knew what she was really doing, but hell; they didn't care enough to check.
As the wind picked up, Amanda began pacing. Her three-inch heels of her knee-length boots clacked sharply on the cold cement of the sidewalk. Why wasn't he here yet? He was over thirty minutes late. She just stood there on the New York City sidewalk for another ten minutes, freezing her ass off, before she finally decided it wasn't worth it. Just as she was about to hail a cab, she heard a voice.
"Mel?" Amanda turned to see a man in his thirties standing beside her. Mel was the name she used on the streets. With her tall shoes, done up hair, and heavy make up, it was unlikely anyone would recognize her anyway. The alias was just a precaution.
"That's me. I'm assuming you're Mr. Preston?"
"I am." He smiled, and she saw every last one of his gleaming white teeth. Eager one, this man was. She shuddered mentally. Mr. Preston looked around nervously and twisted something nonexistent around his left ring finger. A married man.
"Ah, Mel, is this, ah, legal?" Amanda assumed he was referring to her age.
No fucking way, Goddammit! I'm fucking sixteen. And you're a cheating, horny little bastard!
"Yep," she said, showing him her driver's license. Melissa Jones, Age 18. Any kid with a computer could have made one, yet a look of pure relief crossed Mr. Preston's face. It's funny, Amanda thought. What people will believe when they want something bad enough. "So where are we doing this, Mr. Preston?" she asked cheerily. He was nervously looking around still.
"Oh, my hotel room, I suppose," he said, snapping back to reality. He led her over to a black sedan car, shiny and new. A rental from the hotel, no doubt. There was a driver, so Amanda sat beside Preston in the back seats. The upholstery was all black leather, and it was all Amanda could do not to slide around every time they turned. Her fishnet tights were getting twisted. She rolled her eyes. How far away was this place, anyway?
Suddenly his hand was on her leg, moving slowly upwards. She braced herself mentally. Time to block out her world. She felt his fingers as they worked their way up her thigh and under her skirt. Time to play, she thought. Amanda set herself on auto pilot. She knew exactly what to do. She scooted herself onto Mr. Preston's lap, feeling his arousal. Inside, she was sick, but outside she wore her sexiest smile and most flirtatious laugh.
When they finally arrived at the hotel, Amada was all but in dreamland.
- - -
Several hours later she was walking back down the city streets. Her hair was a mess, her makeup smeared, and a piece of the heel on her left boot was missing. BDSM. He should have warned her. But she had made $300, so she was happy. Or as close to happy as she'd ever get. As always, there was a glimmer of hope residing in the back of Amanda's mind. Maybe the kids at school will like me more if I have enough money, she thought. But she knew it wasn't true, and she never had money for long anyway.
Amanda always came home proud of her new found wealth until she saw the stack of overdue bills on the kitchen counter. She always ended up stuffing her cash into various envelopes and mailing them. It wasn't fair. Why should she be responsible for her meth-addict mother's debts anyway? After what seemed like forever, Amanda arrived at the apartment she shared with her mother. Without even bothering to take off her broken boots, she climbed into bed and fell asleep.
- - -
Amanda awoke to the ringing of the telephone the next morning. Groaning, she pulled her pillow over her head. "Shuddup," she muttered, but the ringing was insistent. Cursing modern technology, she groped for the phone, keeping the pillow over her eyes. "Hello," she said sleepily.
"Hello, is this Ms. Lisa Cooper?"
Like hell I am, you son of a bitch. Do I sound like my meth-addicted, drunken excuse of a mother to you?
"Yeah, yeah. What's up?"
"This is the Pearson-Saint Andrews Bank. According to your landlord, your rent is three months overdue."
"Fuck!" Amanda yelled, sitting up "How much did she -- I -- miss this time?" The man on the other end looked up the amount, and when he told her, Amanda let loose every curse she knew at her mother. It would take her two months to make that much, if she worked every night. But she didn't have two months. The banker told her she had until Friday to make up the payments or she would be evicted.
Deciding not to worry about the current money issue yet, she took a shower and got dressed, spending most of her time on her hair and makeup. She tried so hard to look "normal," or someone who tried too hard to look slutty. Half-laughing at the irony, she got downstairs just in time to catch the bus. She was lucky; ten seconds later and it would have been gone, and principal Croix said that another unexcused absence earned her a week's suspension. She couldn't afford to miss that much school. If she ever wanted to graduate high school and maybe go to college, she needed to pass her junior year first.
On the bus Amanda could feel several pairs of eyes on her. Maybe she'd taken the fake whore look too far. Slightly self-conscious, Amanda slumped down in her seat. Only seven hours of school and she could get to work to pay off the missing rent. But it sometimes took her three days to line up a job. She just didn't have time.
The bus arrived to school on time and Amanda's mind wandered all through homeroom and math. She had more important things to worry about than algebra and theorems. In study hall she was doodling on her notebook when she caught a piece of an interesting conversation.
"Seriously, none of the chicks in this whole school will fuck anymore."
"No kidding, man, I'm almost desperate. I'd do almost anything."
There were murmurs of agreement among the rest of the boys. Suddenly Amanda had an idea. She grabbed her stuff and jumped up from her seat. She muttered something to the teacher about going to the nurse and almost sprinted down the hall to the boys' bathroom. She pulled out a permanent marker and began to write.
- - -