Luv Saving Money

The man looked down at his scattered ashes. “I am growing tired of waiting. When will I be free
of this prison?”
“Soon.” The woman moved away in that fluid, ethereal manner of hers. Her scarlet gown flowed
around her. An armlet shaped in the goddess Isis’s symbol—a coiled cobra—gleamed. Heavy black kohl
rimmed her eyes, emphasizing the deep violet of her irises, while her long, black hair, set in many tight
braids, reached her waist. “You must be patient,” the woman said. “I told you I would help you get what
you desire.”
“But that isn’t possible. She is back in her body. Back in her tomb.”
“All is possible. I have the power. Haven’t I proved it? Aren’t you the proof of it?”
“I still don’t live.”
“Your spirit lives.”
“My spirit cannot touch her.”
“But it can touch her spirit. Mate with her spirit if you so desire.”
“And why would you do this for me?”
“My revenge is incomplete. My murdering sister rests while I am forced to wander in spirit with
no substance of my own.”
“And how will it be done? I am in your hands. This is not comfortable for me. I am always in
control.”
The woman threw back her head and laughed, showing black, rotten teeth. Stinking, no doubt, if
he could smell anything.
“You have not been in control for a long time. The god I serve is Set, and he is in control. He will
come and he will work through me. More powerful this time, for Sekhmet will bring him.”
“And I will have my queen?”
“You will have her.”
“She will be in the one who is here now?”
“That is to be determined.”
“But this one is not of the blood.”
“She will not be possessed, but transformed. We do not need a blood relative.”
“That has been tried before. And failed.”
“The rules were not properly followed. You cannot possess all of her. You have seen that. The
gods will not allow it. Her spirit must be divided. Some of it must remain with her body—and lie cold in
her tomb. Waiting. Always waiting. In that way, the gods are appeased and my price is also exacted.”

“So part of my queen will still wander, looking for her lover, but enough of her spirit will be
released to come to me.”
“Now you understand. You will have all that you desire, and my revenge will not be
compromised.”
“And I can be with her. For all time.”
The woman didn’t answer. She gave the merest hint of a smile and passed on.
In his world of shadows, Dr. Emeryk Quintillus waited.

Transform me into a vampire.
The words had just left my lips, more shape than sound since I still couldn’t speak without vocal
cords, and Dominic Lysander, Master vampire of New York City—who had supposedly seen all, knew all,
and wasn’t impressed by any of it in his four hundred and seventy-seven- year-long life—stared at me
like I was an alien, like I was an otherworldly creature he’d always known probably existed, but was
wholly unprepared to confront. I knew that horror-filled, struck-dumb look all too well; I’d been wearing
it pretty consistently over the past several weeks, ever since Dominic had shoved me against the brick
exterior of my apartment building and commanded me to look into his eyes, and my body had
unwillingly obeyed. I knew that sometimes events were so devastating, both physically and mentally,
that all you could do was stare blankly at the destruction and hope to God you didn’t lose your shit.
But in all his four hundred and seventy-seven years, this was not the time nor the place to lose
his shit.
Use my necklace, I mouthed, both encouraging him and reminding him not to use the blood in
his veins, weakened by the Leveling. I would have ripped the pendant from my necklace and raised the
precious drops of his formerly powerful blood to my lips myself, but I’d lost the use of my arms. My
body was numb, my awareness drifting, my vision a starburst blanket of blackness covering my face, and
still, Dominic just stared.
What are you waiting for? I snapped, as much as I could snap under the circumstances.
“Another solution to present itself,” he finally admitted, looking over my injuries, the movement
of his eyes darting and frantic.
I raised my eyebrows, or at least, I tried to. Cold feet?
Dominic let loose a long-suffering sigh. Some of the horror left his expression, but not all of it,
and what little did leave was replaced by weary resignation. I didn’t understand his reaction—I didn’t
understand him and maybe never really would, not as a human anyway. After weeks of attempting to
seduce me, not only into his bed but into his coven, this should be his golden, shining moment, the pot
of gold at the end of this violent, blood-soaked rainbow, but by the sick, nearly choked expression on his
face, instead of bathing in his good fortune, he was drowning in it. “The temperature of my feet has
little to do with this decision,” he said blandly.
I opened my mouth to correct his misunderstanding, to explain that “cold feet” was just an
expression, not a literal physical discomfort, when I noticed the tilt to the scarred half of his lips. He was
teasing. I was exsanguinating in an alley between East Fifty-Seventh Street and 432 Park Avenue, my
vocal cords in shreds, breathing more blood than air into my lungs, and fading fast. And he was teasing.
I laughed and blood sprayed like a geyser from my esophagus. Dominic choked, coughing up
physical blood from his metaphysical injuries. My injuries.
The blanket over my vision thickened, filling the gaps between starbursts. I didn’t have time to
doubt my decision and consider why Dominic would hesitate—which wasn’t so much a decision as it
was a last resort, and perhaps therein lay Dominic’s hesitation. I didn’t have time to convince him that
my decision was more choice than he’d been given for his transformation, and if my decision was more

about living than it was about a life with him, he’d have to suck up his pride and be grateful I was making
this choice at all: the right choice, according to him, under different circumstances.
I didn’t even have time to catch my breath.

“Isoline…”
Isoline gasped as she opened her eyes. He was here…again…always…
“Isoline…”
She climbed out of bed, her hands gripping her satin robe as she stood, but when she
looked back, the bed was gone, as were the walls of her room. She wrapped the robe around
herself as the fog crept in around her ankles. She was somewhere outside. She could feel the
grass under her feet and the dampness in the air, yet she was not cold. The strange sensations
told her that none of this was real…yet she knew it was.
“Isoline…” he called to her again.
“I’m here,” she replied softly. “Show yourself.” She knew he would not, but still she tried
to convince him to reveal his face. In the five years he had been coming to her in her dreams,
she had not seen who he was, but she could feel he had gotten closer to her.
She took a step forward. Just because she was alone in a dream with a strange man did
not mean she could not enjoy a short walk. She had been coming here for so long, this place no
longer terrified her.
It was a large open glade, with grass up to her knees, surrounded by forest. She had
tried many times to reach the edge of the glade, but she had never made it that far. A pale blue
moon lighted her way. She clutched tightly to the robe at her chest and ran the tips of her
fingers along the edges of the grass as she walked. She shivered, not from cold, but from the
way the grass tickled her bare calves as she walked.
She heard footsteps behind her. She slowly turned her head, but there was no one there,
as usual. She continued her walk, and she heard the footsteps again, closer this time.
“I want to see you,” she said. “It is time, don’t you think?”
He did not respond, but she felt the wind lightly touch the ends of her long dark hair.
No…it wasn’t the wind. It was him. She knew it was. She shivered again.
“If you cannot reveal yourself to me you need to stop bringing me here,” she said. “I…”
She had delayed in telling him the truth. This man in her dreams. She shook her head,
disappointed with herself. What was she afraid of? Offending a figment of her imagination?
But what she knew to be true and what she knew to be reasonable and logical warred in
her mind. She knew she was dreaming. But she also knew this was much more than a dream.
But if it was more than a dream, what was it? It was the unknown that scared her more than the
dream itself. She no longer feared the dream as she once did. She actually longed for it. She
did not know what caused the dreams to happen. There seemed to be no logical order to when
they happened. One night, two nights, three nights could pass before she would find herself
here. When too many nights passed that she was not awakened by him calling her name, she
would miss him. Miss this place.
And yet, as a dream, she could not let it stop her from living.
But she did. She had for too long. She had to put an end to it. It was time to focus on the
world of the waking.
“I am getting married,” she finally said in one quick breath.
The world stilled. For the first time in a dream, she felt cold. She pulled her robe more
tightly around her and could see the crystals of her own breath before her.
“Do not be angry,” she said. “You know we cannot continue like this.”
We. As if she had a choice in being here. She could not will the dreams to come to her.
She had tried. She could not change the content of the dreams. She had tried that as well. And
yet…she wanted to be here. She wanted to see this man who had called to her all these years.
She wanted to know him. To touch him. To see him. But if he could not give her that, she could
not keep coming here.
“It is dishonorable to my future husband,” she said. “I cannot keep coming to you from
my marriage bed. It is disloyal.”
From over her shoulder, she could see him breathing. He was right behind her. Her own
breath stilled. They were so close. If only she could touch him.
“Just show me your face,” she panted, “and I will end the engagement.”
The hairs on her arms prickled. He was right there, so close. Almost touching her but not

quite. She had to look. She turned to face him.
And he was gone.
She stood alone in the field.
“Who are you?” she yelled.