Standing in front of me is the fortune telling girl who first ratted me out to the pack of albinos, whipping them into a frenzy until they killed me. Her white hair is done in that loathsome style of weaving her hair and twigs into a basket. The girl's skin is pale but dotted with ugly “decorative” scars where the skin is pierced and an irritant such as dirt is rubbed into it. The albinos may be a filthy, poor bunch, but they always have dirt. She looks at me with eyes that alternate between pink and blue, and it's like I'm seeing a lake deep in a glacier, with crystal clear water surrounded by pure white ice. All I need is for her is to bring an entire horde of albinos to my door so they can finish me off.

My first reaction upon opening the door and seeing an albino is one of crushing disappointment, even if she has managed to wipe the drool from the corners of her mouth.

“Oh, Lord, why is this albino here?” I'm tactful enough not to say it out loud, but that's what I'm thinking, and my heart sinks.

“I chose you, didn't I?” I can't hear the voice, and neither can she, but I know He has spoken.

Ouch. Like always, God has a way of going straight for the heart. I drop to my belly. “I'm sorry, Miss, please forgive me.”

I crawl backward, wriggling my hips and swapping my tail from one side to the other, drawing the door inward with my snout. “Come in.”

“Is something wrong?” she asks, peering inside the gloomy interior of the warehouse where crates and baled goods are stacked.

“No. It's just that for a moment there I forgot that I'm a reptile, and thought I had room to judge another human being.” I pat a low crate as a gesture for her to sit. “I'll be back.”

When I return with a basin of water in my snout and set it quietly before her feet so that it doesn't clang, she is puzzled.

“'Another human being,'” she laughs. “That's a funny thing for a lizard to say.”

“Yes it is, and technically, I'm a gecko.” I gently guide her feet with a padded hand. “Place your feet in the water.”

“What for?” She rests her ghostly white hands on the edge of the crate, locking her elbows and looking down at me in curiosity.

“I'm washing your feet.” I bound up two crates to a bale of fabrics, I use my snout to rip it open, and seize a fine cloth skirt that I will use. I bounce down and am once more lying on my stomach, with the skirt in my mouth.

“Why would you do that?” She wrinkles her nose in disgust.

“Because they're very dirty,” I reply as I begin gently washing the water over her pale feet, “and it's a compulsion.”

“What's a compulsion?”

“Boy, you're full of questions.” I continue washing her feet, but because my arms are short and stubby, I must get my snout very close to her feet—I can't wash at a dignified distance. “A compulsion is something you have to do, like returning to a home where everyone else has gone on with their lives without you. You can't join them, can't be a part of their lives any more, but you can't let it go. You have to keep coming back every night to watch them through the window.”

“Sounds awfully sad...and creepy.” She curls her snowy toes in the water and uncurls them.

“Yeah, you got it exactly right.” I scrape a bit between her toes and she giggles because it tickles, then set her feet back into the water. “Right now, Lord Riyel is teaching me a lesson about humility.”

“Who's he? Is he the leader of the lizard people?” Her eyes shine with curiosity.

“Lord Riyel is the leader of everybody.” I pick up one foot and wipe with the towel. “Imagine being a prince, but giving it up so you could help the poor, the sick, the prisoners, the dying. Some people might ask, 'What does the prince know about our lives?' but Lord Riyel can say, 'I know. I was one of you and lived among you.'”

I feel her feet, and I notice the soles are broad and thick. “You have huge calluses. I'm going to do something, but don't make any sudden moves. Let me know if you feel any discomfort.”

Lifting up her foot, I open up my snout and hiss over the sole, sending a spray that wets it.

“Ooh, that tickles,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “You didn't spit on me, did you?”

“No, it's acid.” When I judge it's right, I plunge her foot back into the basin, and scrub the dead skin away. “Let's try the other foot.”

I lift up her right foot, and repeat, spraying an acid mist over the sole of her foot. She giggles as it works, and I rinse off her foot and scrub off the dead skin. I had no idea that I could spray acid from my mouth. This body is like driving someone else's car; there are similarities that come automatically, but there are differences that have to be learned. It's also clear to me now that I'm not just a tokay gecko, but some kind of hybrid that's been designed for maximum efficiency.

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“So what did Lord Riyel do?” she asks while stirring the water with her feet.

“He healed the sick and crippled, gave food to poor people, freed slaves...just did a whole bunch of good deeds.” I jump back up to the bale of clothes to snag another fabric with my snout, which I bring down to the basin. I pick up her feet and begin drying them. “The interesting thing is, every day he was someone new, a beggar, an old lady, even a dying dog by the side of the road. It was a test, because anyone who needed help and compassion could actually be Lord Riyel in disguise, like an albino girl who shows up at your door late at night.”

“I don't think I'm Lord Riyel,” she observes as I buff her feet dry. “I'm certain I would know. I knew when Tlochtlet was possessing me.”

“Ah, but that's the funny thing,” I tell her as I throw the damp skirt aside with my snout. “When God created the first woman, her child, and the first man, he crafted them so that they 'bore his likeness.'”

“So what's that mean?”

“Everybody has a bit of Lord Riyel in them.” I move to sit on the crate beside her, but my tail gets in the way, and I have to be careful not to whip her across the face with it. If I sit down, my tail butts into the crate behind me, and I end up sitting on top of my tail like a booster seat. Finally I hit on the idea of sitting on the corner of the crate, and it works out. “Now that your feet are clean, the big question is why are you here?”

“My mom is really angry at me because now that I'm no longer demon possessed, I can't tell fortunes. That's the only money we had.” Her ghostly fingers play with the hem of her rough fabric dress, which might have held onions before it was refashioned.

I'm reminded of the Great Depression when flour manufacturers began putting flowers on their sacks because so many little girls were making dresses of them. It's funny what you can remember when you're dead. “Where's your father?”

She shrugs, causing scar tissue like little ball bearings to slide beneath the skin in her thin shoulder. “I don't know, never knew.”

“Family is everything. When you forget that, life isn't worth living.” I remember Max, who doesn't have a father, and the father he had was a lying, traitorous...Don't think like that, Vic, it does you no good.

“You're bleeding,” she says and wipes my face. The blood on her frosty white hand is all the more obvious, especially because geckos have an incredible ability to see color in low light.

“I'm not bleeding; I'm crying. Some geckos bleed from their eyes to scare away predators.”

She picks up the damp skirt I used to dry her feet and dabs the blood tears from my face. “I also wanted to thank you for freeing me from that demon. It's like my whole life I was living with someone else, someone evil inside me.”

“That's what God has sent me to do.” He's also sent me to go to war, and I worry about this girl getting caught up in it.

“Oh, look,” she exclaims, pointing with a finger like powdered sugar, “a scarab beetle. It's a symbol of...”

Like a coiled spring I burst, snapping up the beetle in a split instant, causing her to yelp in surprise. Wow, that scarab sure tastes good, and it was substantial, too, not like all the other tiny insects. “A symbol of deliciousness?” I can't believe I just ate a beetle. I'm even more surprised that I enjoyed it.

A look of disgust sweeps over her face. “No, it's a symbol of the sun god, Aldaw.”

“The supposed sun god can kiss my ass.” Something troubles my mind. “How did you find me?”

“I can still tell fortunes or see things, know things. I told my mom I can't because I don't want to do that anymore.” She looks at my mouth closely, canting her head to one side. “You really ate that beetle?”

“Yes, of course.” I figure four more of those scarab beetles and I'd have a meal. “What I need now is to find the followers of Lord Riyel. Can you lead me to them?”

She beams, smiling at me with teeth that are as white as her face. “Sure. Like lining baby ducks.” It's a Siskalian expression that means very easy.

“Now that you don't have calluses on your feet, you're going to need shoes.” I crawl among the crates until I reach one at the back that I recall. I return with a pair of sandals and drop them at her feet.

“For me? Wow, I've never had shoes before.” She hurriedly tries them on and takes several long strides between the packing crates to try them on. “They fit perfectly.”

When she whooped at my sudden burst to snatch up that beetle, she made a noise that could be heard outside, and I'm feeling very anxious to get out. I see that she looks uncomfortable. “What's wrong?”

“Are we stealing?” She's looking at me with pale blue eyes like arctic water.

“Good question. That's the right thing to ask. Why don't you climb up onto those crates there, and you'll see a leather coin purse.” I'm pointing, but my arm is short, and my “index finger” is fat and stubby. “Leave enough coins to cover the cost of the skirt I used and your sandals. By the way, you're now treasurer. I don't even have thumbs, so I'm not designed to handle money.”

She looks down from the top of the crates. “You trust me with your money?”

“Sure, uh...what's your name?”

“Liana,” she replies as she scrambles down with the coin purse.

“I'm Vic, pleased to meet you.” I extend my hand, and we shake.

“Nice to meet you. Your hand is very soft and cool—I wasn't expecting that.” She tucks the coin purse into the drawstring at the waist of her dress. “Vic is a weird name for a walking lizard.”

“Gecko,” I correct her before I even have the chance to consider why it matters. I guess it's more of my reptilian pride.

“But I don't know what name would work...Frederick, Steven, Herbert, Landon...” She's counting the names on her alabaster fingers. “I think you'd have to go with a dog name. Prince, Tiger, Fluffy, er, Scaly, that kind of name.”

“Okay, we'll stick with Vic for the time being.” Kids in their honesty have a way of deflating a guy's ego. “You stay on the street and I'll follow on the walls and rooftops. If you get into trouble, let me take care of it, and get ready to get out of the way.”

“Got it.” She nods her head and moves to the door, which she opens just a fraction to check to see if there's anyone out this late at night. She slips out the door and I follow on my belly. I quickly move up a wall and then to the rooftop, treading carefully so that I don't make any noises that would alert someone inside.

We cross the park, which is lit by oil lamps along the path, heading to the working class part of town.

Without warning a door in a blacksmith's shop at the albino girl's side swings open, and three soldiers rush out.