Szentendre had multiple cemeteries by choice, rather than necessity. It was a somewhat large town, numbering sixty thousand people, but, even if the townsfolk had been averse to space-bending technology or magic, they wouldn't have needed more than one graveyard.

It was a matter of...tradition was a strong word. Perhaps an unspoken, but tacitly acknowledged one, though perhaps it would have been more accurately described as a habit, a preference.

One for the tradespeople, the workers.

One for the leaders, secular or religious.

One for the rest. People who had been marginalised before death, criminals who hadn't been heinous enough for their bodies to be thrown aside or buried in unmarked graves, strangers who had died while in town or close to it.

Loric had been buried in the third, not the first.

He had been a tailor, yes. But that hadn't been what people had remembered. Take up the family trade, and they'll say nothing. Help others for decades, and they'll stay quiet.

But kill yourself once...

Loric visited his wife under the cover of night. It wasn't that he was forbidden from walking around town-that would have been illegal, since he'd proven his relative, or rather selective, stability-but people didn't like him. They just needed him.

'The more things change,' the strigoi whispered to himself, lips quirked in an amused, fanged grin. Thin and unconvincing, but he couldn't have tricked her even if he'd been planning to.

There were guards scattered through and around the cemetery: human, automaton, and other, unsleeping things that had never been touched by mankind's hand. He paid them no heed, save from nodding in greeting. Few returned it.

Loric passed through the yamadium fence like mist through a screen door, for all that he hadn't shapeshifted. His body was just...more versatile, nowadays.

He found her quickly. Even without his strigoi senses, massively amplified by all the terrors he had consumed, he knew the graveyard enough to find Csilla's final resting place with his eyes closed.

Loric made a point of visiting her at least once an year, unless work was keeping him busy, several times if he was feeling especially sentimental, or wanted to confess something no one else would understand.

She had never actually responded to him. But she'd never sent him away, either, and the fact she still made time for him was all he could ask for.

Loric hoped that, in the light of recent events, he might actually get more of a reaction from her. It was a long shot, but what in his unlife wasn't?

His wife had been next to her former employer, at Loric's own request. The townsfolk had hesitatingly asked him whether he wanted her grave next to his, one of the few things that had made Loric genuinely laugh.

'She was married to an outcast, and now you want to bury her among more?' he had waved them off. 'That woman had a kinder heart than I ever will.' No one had commented on the fact he lacked one. 'I won't spit on her memory by implying she somehow disgraced herself.'

Loric's lips became a tight line as he stopped in front of the grave. The flowers he'd left her as a Christmas gift had decayed, but how? The vendor had assured him they'd still be colourful and fragrant after the sun burned out, and the enchantment hadn't felt shoddy...

Maybe his darling knew? Or maybe she'd done it herself. The dead sometimes suffered outbursts of paranormal force, though this was probably just her way of telling him she still didn't know how to pick flowers.

Well. Csilla had always told him roses were overrated.

'Hello, dear,' he dropped to a knee in front of the headstone. It sported their black and white wedding photo, with her looking as beautifully stern as ever, and him not even ruining the image that much. Beneath it was an inscription:

Csilla Szabo (1894-1957)

Beloved wife, mother and nurse

Your family will never forget you

And he would not. If he never did anything else, he would remember her.

'Did you dislike my gift?' he ran a finger along the photo's frame. 'I'll bring you something else next time. What would you like?'

No reply? No reply. Of course. She was probably busy.

'Someone other than you,' came a deep, rough voice from above, making Loric rise to his feet. His wife, as pale and transparent as glass, was sitting on the headstone, her booted feet dangling centimetres above the frozen ground. She'd always said she wanted to be buried in the clothes she wore to work, and Loric had indulged her, even if he had felt they were a bit drab.

But this didn't make sense. His wife wasn't a restless spirit. Was she? She'd been troubled by his suicide and undeath, yes, and upset that their children hadn't managed to make it home so she could die surrounded by them, but had that been enough?

But then, why would she be quiet and not show up for so many decades? She'd been faithful, though damn if he'd ever understood wy she had prayed to her ungrateful god. All the funerary rites had been observed.

And Loric knew, from good sources, that she'd gone where she had always been meant to be. So...

'Is that you, Csilla?' he asked skeptically, eyes narrowed. The spirit crossed her arms, sporting a frown reminiscent of his wife's, but he still wasn't convinced. Faces like Csilla's were made for frowning, no offence to her.

'You seem to think you are her,' he said, probing at the edges of her being with his senses. 'So it shouldn't be hard for you to prove it.'

Her own eyes narrowed-in anger?-, then widened, before narrowing again.

'Loric, you damned fool...what has even happened to you?'

'Can't you tell?' he retorted. 'Surely Heaven has sharpened your senses.' He swore, if this was some stupid ghost aping Csilla just to make fun of him, they'd need a new cemetery.

'Oh, it has, alright.' The ghost dropped to the ground, and, being a head shorter than him (though broader and stockier), glared up into his face. 'What I'm wondering is, how in Hell's arsehole did you become filled with so many...' her head flickered in and out of perception, and she shook it as it became stable once again. 'The why would be nice to know, too.'

'I devoured one to save myself,' Loric replied bluntly. 'The rest were...hmm, consumed for pleasure. And power.'

'I always knew you'd start eating whatever the moment I left you alone,' she deadpanned. 'You walking trashcan.' Then, her gruff mask crumbled. 'What happened to you? The man I married would have never done this.'

'You don't know...? No, I suppose you wouldn't.' After all, why would a blessed soul like her busy herself with his earthly-unholy-existence?

If she was indeed Csilla. But he'd get her measure as they talked. And-he knew it was pathetic-even a simulacrum of hers would help alleviate the loneliness, at least briefly.

So, he spoke. Told him about the highlights of his career, at least those that could be mentioned without reality falling apart around his words. The Siberia mission. The way he'd set that ungrateful little witch straight, not that her parents had been worth a damn, according to his little brother. The Fairie fiasco. The Tremorph. Chernobog and his worshippers.

Loric had the feeling that, had she still possessed a body, Csilla would have gone a bit green around the gills at his description of the meal he had made for Sofia.

He wondered why. It couldn't have been the details. She'd handled worse. Maybe it was the excitement? It was always nice to see his creativity being appreciated, especially by his beloved.

Loric briefly wondered if he was starved for affection, and whether he cared.

'Our children,' she said eventually, after he stopped, wondering whether he should start talking about anything without prompting. 'Are they still alive? And if not, how...?'

'They're not with you?' he blinked, somewhat surprised. Though...no, perhaps he shouldn't have been. Loric had never enquired about his children's belief, except in the most general sense. He'd treated them like he'd treated their homework: something for them to handle, unless they needed his help. But even so, he was adept enough at reading the room to know that, between Zoe's orientation and Bence's dilemma, they might not have been overly enamoured with the church, whose members had stayed silent and neutral, neither supporting the Party's stance when it came to "deviants", nor openly siding with the persecuted.

Spineless. Still, better than to say something, then do something else. At least in this case, the priests couldn't have been accused of hypocrisy.

'Zoe married in secret,' Loric revealed. 'She died peacefully, from what I've heard, and I regret not being there. Her wife and I still meet for holidays. They adopted a boy; likable enough, if a bit unimaginative.'

'He became a tailor?'

'He became a tailor. To my exasperation. And we aren't even related, so I don't know why Csaba feels the need to continue the tradition. Maybe he thought it skipped a generation, so he might as well do it? Anyhow...Bence...' Loric bit his lower lip. 'They made it look like an accident.'

'They?'

'The people who killed them, and were flayed by me,' he said, meeting her eyes. 'Do you really think Bence would have made their suicide look like an accident, as opposed to a statement? If they'd been inclined to end themselves, that is.'

She nodded gratefully. 'And Adalbert?'

Now, this felt truly suspicious. Had those choirboys up there truly kept her ignorant of everything? And if yes, why? Although...Loric knew some ghosts' minds fell apart as often as their ectoplasmic bodies. Could this happen to spirits like Csilla's, if this was even hers?

He couldn't believe he was kicking himself for not paying more attention to religion.

Loric leaned back, crossing his left leg over his right as he hovered. 'I don't consider him our son anymore, my star.'

'Loric...' she started at his tone. 'I'm sorry if I'm boring you with the questions, but this is the first time I've been able to really think since death, and I want to learn as much as I can, even if I won't remember it.'

'What is that supposed to mean?' he asked sharply. 'Are they keeping your mind frozen up there?' He supposed some fanatics would have been happy to have a moment of worship stretch into eternity, but surely his wife hadn't changed enough to want that?

But what if she's not in Heaven? his true half whispered mutinously, and, for the first time since his undeath, Loric hated it.

Quiet! She's never been faithless or sinful. There is nowhere else she could be.

She shook her head. 'It's not...well, I suppose you could see it that way.' She slumped, leaning backwards against her headstone. 'I was tired when I died. Wanted it all to end, but it didn't. Not completely. So I wanted to rest. Laid down to sleep when I felt peaceful, and, well...' she shrugged. 'I just woke up. Was woken up. You wouldn't happen to know about that, would you?'

'You don't remember, either?' he asked. He only remembered a sense of unity and belonging, of warmth and understanding, but...he had actually linked minds with every being in existence then, Csilla included. However, he didn't remember the memories they had shared, only that it had happened.

She shook her head. 'Perhaps it's for the best?'

'Yes...yes, you're right, of course.' It made sense. Mundane humans would have been left with broken minds from all they had seen, and, though Loric had welcomed the sensation, and wanted it to happen again, he didn't want it to be given to him. He wanted to earn it, work towards it.

Speaking of things he wanted...

Loric resumed his recollection, revealing Adalbert's entrance into the State Protection Authority, and the trial run he'd been sent on.

'But it wasn't really a trial.' Loric tapped one of his knees. 'Not in the way he thought. The Party didn't want to test his loyalty, they already knew he was an opportunist. They wanted to get rid of an idiot who'd do more harm than good working for them, and, if he found a way to put down a strigoi who refused to dabble in politics along the way-maybe by charming or stealing some relic off a priest-all the better.

'Loric...'

He didn't say anything.

'Loric, is he dead, too?'

'By my hand,' he said, then smiled humourlessly. 'I don't know whether he's languishing in Hell or the aether, but I could take a look. For you.'

Loric opened his arms when she walked towards him, then began rubbing her back as she wept softly. 'What did we do wrong...? He never saw cruelty. Neither of was like that.'

'He never saw cruelty growing up,' Loric corrected gently. 'But then he went to war, learned to love killing, I suppose. Power. It's an acquired taste.'

Csilla scoffed. 'Are you speaking from experience?' she asked in a trembling voice. Angry? She certainly didn't feel scared.

'I am, indeed,' he said as she pushed him away, breaking the hug, meeting his sad look with a disturbed one.

'You told me you killed yourself out of despair,' Csilla said in an accusatory voice, as if he had lied to her. 'But you seem to be enjoying living like...like you do. So, what was the real reason? Boredom? Did you get tired of being human?' She choked up a little, gulping. 'How could you...?'

'Csilla, wait,' he held up his hands. 'I told you the truth. I despaired, at our country becoming irrelevant. At being trapped in a meaningless life where advancement was impossible. I did not expect to return, but I do not regret it.'

'Meaningless?' she spat. 'So good to know you never cared about us, you ungrateful bastard.'

That hurt... 'Csilla, you misunderstand. I've always loved you all, as much as I could. Even Adalbert, before he turned his coat. But I've never had much love to share,' he shrugged with a self-deprecating smile, hoping it was the right gesture. 'You know I've never been able to express much emotion as a human, even when I knew what fit the situation.'

She looked aside, quiet for endless seconds. When she spoke, she still didn't look at him. 'When you first left me pregnant, you said you wanted children so they could bear your name. So that, in a way, you could be remembered. Live through them.'

'That was true,' he said softly. 'But I grew to love them, as much as I loved you. You were a memorable mother, so how could our children be otherwise?'

If she cared for the compliment, she didn't show it. Still, some things just had to be stated.

'You said you never had a grasp on your emotions when you were human. But, from what you've told me, I think I'd have preferred you aloof, rather than so enamoured with horror.'

'I could change myself,' he said. 'I have the power of gods within me. I could make myself emotionless. Is that what you wish? Loric Szabo, the man, was not memorable at all. Do you want him to return? Such an uncaring creature, with my powers at his disposal?'

Her expression was an answer unto itself.

'Then, let us be glad it is not so, and that I find time for good deeds, even when I'm not aiming to be kind.'

'Why are you so damned intent on being remembered, Loric? Isn't raising a family not enough?'

He looked at her, dumbfounded. 'Csilla, I told you-'

'You saw that town's watchman being buried with almost no one present, yes. But you hated him! So many did! So why would it mark you so?' she crossed her arms under a chest that was muscular rather than ample. 'No, it doesn't make sense. Are you still lying to me? Even now that we're both dead?'

'I've never lied to you!' he didn't want to raise his voice, both because the graveyard was quiet, and because he didn't want her to think he was angry at her. But why couldn't she see things from...ah, dammit. He hadn't always understood her point of view, either. 'I promise, and, if that isn't enough, I'll do anything you want to prove it.'

Csilla smiled. 'You told me that, once.'

'I didn't lie then, either.'

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

'But, for some reason, I'm far more reluctant to demand anything from the monster you've become than from the boy you once were.'

'Do you really believe I'd refuse you?' he asked. 'Do anything to you if I didn't want to accept your request?'

'No. I'm scared you'd do anything.'

She...ah, she was. He could feel it. Fear, horror, panic, anxiousness...all were crystal-clear to him, hanging around people like the gifts from the statues around him.

'Then, I'll just promise you. I've always been honest to you, and, if I ever lied, it was out of ignorance.' He leaned forward, hands on his knees. 'Why? You ask me why? You brought up Janos. Have you forgotten about him?'

'What's that supposed to mean?'

Loric half-turned around, gesturing with one hand. 'Can you point out his grave to me?'

'Well...' she looked at him strangely. 'No, of course not.' Her voice lowered. 'They removed the headstone.'

'Because no one was visiting. Because, by the time they did, no one even knew him anymore.' He smiled. 'Right? But you saw the headstone when it was there.' Before the weather had half worn it down into unrecognisability. 'So surely you should be able to...?'

'...I don't remember, Loric,' she admitted, sounding uncomfortable. With his insistence on the subject? Or the fact she had forgotten?

He hoped it was the latter. He'd never forgive himself for the former.

'Do you see?' he spread his arms. 'Do you want that to happen to me? Do you understand what I want to avoid?'

'But that doesn't happen to all graves, Loric. Mine-'

'Lovingly maintained by me.' He took her hand into both of his, lips brushing against her knuckles. 'I am not bragging, or expecting anything in return. Your presence is enough.' He looked up at his wife. 'But who will care about me a fraction as much as I care about you, should I die?' Well, there were a few people, he thought to himself. He wasn't exactly fond of the idea of them queuing up to alternatively spit and piss on his hypothetical grave, but all publicity was good publicity. He'd rather be hated than forgotten.

Csilla drew her hand back, her transparent cheeks slightly brighter. 'I will, Loric,' she said. 'If you want me to.'

'Ha,' he chuckled. 'As likely as not, some remnant of me will survive, clinging onto existence by the edge of its fangs. I can take care of myself. Don't bother. I don't need a gravekeeper. Just a mention in the history books.'

'...what about our grandson? Or-does he have children of his own?'

Loric waved her off. 'Leave them be. When they even remember me, they're unsettled.'

Csilla did not seem satisfied with that answer, but she didn't continue that line of thought. Instead, she latched onto a new one.

'Did you know Heaven is outside of space and time, Loric?' she asked, staring at the starless, cloudy night sky.

'Not that I ever cared, but yes. What of it?' Heaven, like all divine realms and the gods themselves, could move from the four dimensions of space and time to the higher ones, reshaping like water being poured into a new vessel, or even reach the state of creation's last boundary. In fact, many suspected that was their default state, something Loric was inclined to agree with. 'What of it?'

'I saw the paths creation could take.' Her breath hitched a little as she looked back at him, and his eyebrows rose, as he couldn't feel any agitation from her. 'In many, everyone becomes able to remember everything, or simply look into the past.' Ah, dammit, was she hoping to dissuade him? Why? Couldn't she see that solution was far less permanent than she thought. Her next words confirmed it. 'You don't have to do this!'

'Better safe than sorry,' he retorted. 'So many fated, guaranteed things can become undone in an instant, my dear...or have you forgotten how everything, despite all the prophecies, predictions and planning rested on one strigoi, not long ago?'

'But your legacy is sure to last?' she asked angrily. Loric didn't answer, and, eventually, she broke eye contact, huffing.

'...I will make it so,' he said, hands opening and closing. 'I will, Csilla. Of this, you can be sure.'

Damn him, he must have said something wrong. Otherwise, why would she start weeping again?

'You're jealous, aren't you?' she fiercely wiped at her eyes, as if angry to be crying. 'Of him. That strigoi...'

'David Silva,' Loric breathed the name with equal parts admiration and distaste. 'He is a paradox. For a time, he was close to finally understanding the truth, seeing things as I do. But then he...' who would go back to Yahweh after tiring of its games? Who would refuse having all of creation hanging on his every word? It was incomprehensible, and Loric silently vowed to help everyone who wanted to join him achieve that miraculous understanding, so he might comprehend his strange brother's mind. 'He went back to his old ways. I won't pretend to get him, don't ask me why.'

Csilla sighed, face in her hands. 'Isn't it enough that he chose to save everyone? That he helped unite us, for that timeless instant?'

'Of course it is! I know you don't really think I am ungrateful, despite your earlier words-don't worry,' he held up a hand at her worried expression. 'There is nothing to forgive. From a certain point of view, you are entirely right. I've never properly thanked you, never been able to. But, Csilla...' he wouldn't start crying himself. Not in front of her. He wouldn't have forgiven himself if he'd been alone, but here? No matter what had changed, he was still her husband. He couldn't appear weak. 'How the hell am I supposed to...'

Loric grit his fangs as he felt the monsters within him thrash and shriek, feeling a danger much greater than them combined. As if they were tempting him to turn his danger upon them. As if that would satisfy him. 'How am I supposed to surpass him...?'

Now she was the one supporting him, his body braced against her incorporeal form as if she was solid. His wife stumbled a bit before she found her footing. 'Loric...?'

'David Silva,' he said hoarsely, fighting the urge to dig his claws into something and squeeze. With only her in front of him, he clenched his fists until they bled unclear, multi-coloured ichor. 'What can I do that will make people remember me over him?' What could he do when David had achieved unity, and gotten the attention and gratitude of the thing that called itself almighty? When it had knelt to him?

'Loric, listen to me-' Csilla tried to cut in, but he only half-heard her.

'He's done more than I can even think of, never mind do,' he said, voice dangerously-annoyingly-close to sniffling. 'And he doesn't even appreciate it. He doesn't care,' his fangs cracked as he growled. 'What's the goddamn point?'

He stopped his brooding when he felt an ectoplasmic fist rap against his forehead, and looked to see his wife frowning grimly. 'There you go again, with that nonsense. So what if you're forgotten completely? Isn't it enough that, while you lived, you were known and happy?' Her eyes softened. 'Wouldn't you rather have peace, at some point? Do you really want strangers and descendants so distant you could never understand them calling your name forever, never leaving you rest?'

'...I've never thought about it that way,' he admitted. Ah, if only they'd had more time together! If only he'd managed to keep her alive, and at his side for longer! Even now, for all his power, she saw things he did not think of. 'But I'm not sure I want-'

He shut up when she chopped at the air, a tired look in her shining eyes. 'Tell me more about this Silva fellow. What's he like? Why did he become a strigoi? What does he want?'

Does he share your ridiculous goals, or even more absurd ones? He could read between the lines. Rather than say anything, he reached into his jacket, into a pocket he willed into existence the moment his hand approached its location, and produced a book.

Csilla took it from his hands, raising a thick eyebrow. 'Strigoi Soul? What's this? Some manual about the psychology of people like you?'

'It's the tale of Silva's life,' Szabo said patiently. It was the one thing he'd learned reading the novel. With the amount of shade thrown at him, he'd had no other recourse. 'Don't hurry. It has six "books", but they get longer with each. I can leave it here, if you want.'

Csilla nodded, eyes moving across the cover sporting Silva's face before he'd joined ARC. 'Who's "Strigoi Grey"? His biographer?'

'His pseudonym,' Loric chuckled. 'He said he's had enough fame to last him an eternity. As if anyone who matters won't know...he used to be a writer, but back then, he used his actual name. As I understand it, it's a reference to how he can't only do good things, but refuses to be evil.' His little brother loved metaphors as much as he hated complexity.

Csilla opened the book, eyes flashing as she flipped through it with ghostly speed. 'God, this man broods a lot...'

Loric nodded in agreement. 'It's one of the reasons he thinks it'd do poor on the screen.' Besides all the censored and classified activities that'd never make it into the show or movie. 'Any adaptation would need to either cut out the inner monologues, replace them with something else, or find a way to make them interesting.'

'And people can just...read this? Isn't he still an active ARC agent?' Csilla asked, still reading.

'After everyone's minds shared a moment? Yes, the sanitised version you hold has been deemed safe for public consumption. Most people don't remember anything, the few who do don't all know Silva, and those of them who do and want to cause trouble can be taken care of.' Szabo tapped another jacket pocket. 'My colleagues and I have access to an expanded, or rather uncensored version, with some sections written by members of ARC, other supernatural defence agencies, and certain other...people of significance.' His smile became crooked. 'Including one by me.'

'I'm not sure I want to read the full book,' Csilla said.

'Wise choice.' Then, jokingly, he added, 'Most of them write in third person, and use rather boring language.'

Closing the the book, Csilla let it hover, before hugging him again and pressing a kiss to his lips, to his bafflement. Then, she brought her mouth close to his ear. 'You want a purpose? You feel aimless? Idiot. You don't even realise how much talking to you has helped me...'

He hugged her back, wiping away her tears. 'I was just about to say that. I've always hoped you'd answer me. Sorry if I bothered you.' On that note-not that he wanted to ruin the moment-, though...'Do you know anything about that?' He tilted his head at the withered flowers, and laughed as Csilla froze, then shifted from foot to foot. 'You can just tell me they were ugly, you know; I won't mind. Just tell me what to bring next time.'

'I'm not scared....not worried abut you, Loric,' she corrected herself. 'I've always known you wouldn't hurt me, but now, I accept it.'

'Then?' he asked, glaring fiercely. Was someone desecrating her grave and intimidating her into staying quiet? Oh, Loric was glad he'd never been angry, as opposed to creative. He wasn't sure what he would have done.

'There's a...' she stopped, looking around her. Loric grunted, then, with a thought, created a pocket universe. Separate from the mundane one, with its own flow of time, his mind warped it to grow. With another thought, it expanded, becoming infinite yet filled with matter, before the flow of time stopped.

Csilla looked at the endless gallery of horrors around them, writhing timelessly, corporeal, immaterial and more, then at Loric's grim, earnest face. He was ready to sic all of these on whatever had upset her, she realised, with no small amount of horror. 'There's a strigoi, a new one,' she said, still whispering, as if scared said undead might hear her, or harm her with him here! Absurd.

This strigoi better be on par with Domna Economou. He wanted something that would last.

'Yes?' he hissed, stretching out the s, before wincing apologetically as she jumped.

'He-Loric, please understand-'

'Is there something to understand?' he asked. 'Or are you just scared of what I'm willing to do for you?'

'Yes!' she snapped. 'She tells me every time he makes the rounds; she walks all the cemeteries, you see. She doesn't remember her name, or life. She just knows she died as she lived: alone.' Csilla pressed her hands together, brow thoughtfully. 'Surprisingly peaceful for a strigoi, from what I've seen. Very quiet.'

'It's a wonder she hasn't joined the hermits in Siberia!' Loric said acidly, not feeling charitable.

'Will you shut up?' Csilla asked. 'Thank you. She mostly stays in her grave, in...your cemetery.' She cleared her throat. 'Ahem. She's never been visited by anyone, and is jealous of those of us who are.'

'So she vandalises your graves?' Loric asked. Draining flowers of life? Seriously? 'That's petty if I've ever heard of it. And here I thought David didn't make sense...'

Csilla scoffed. 'I swear you have a crush on that man.'

'I don't...never mind. So you want me to kill her?' given by how she looked ready to facepalm, probably not. Better to ask, though. 'Or...?'

'I'd like it if you didn't have to kill anyone, Loric,' she said. 'But I'd also like her to stop.'

Well, he could easily rewrite her mind with divine power, make her think it was her own idea. Or, he could be more creative than any two-bit monster with such powers would be (such as the Tremorph itself, which at least had made for a good source of new powers), and persuade her the old-fashioned way. 'I can do that,' Loric promised his wife, before kissing her again as he ran a hand through her short, translucent hair. 'And I hope to meet again, if you wouldn't mind.' He smiled weakly. 'I'm sure the rest of the family would like meeting you.' More than him, anyway, but that bar was underground.

Csilla returned his smile hesitantly. 'Maybe we will. If what I've seen is true, you...' she took a deep breath, then exhaled with a sigh. 'You've done good too, Loric. Please remember that.' Please keep doing so.

'Anything you wish,' he said as he erased the alternate reality with a third thought. 'Will this be all?'

Csilla rubbed one arm. 'Have you realised how similar you and Silva are?'

'Well, of course,' he grinned. 'We-'

'If you say "are both strigoi", I'm not sure what I'll do,' Csilla said drily. 'Bloody jokes...no, I mean the fact he craved empty fame the way you still do.'

'Empty!?' he said, outraged.

'Yes! He didn't think how his suicide would affect his friends, his father, like a certain other bonehead I know,' she poked his exposed brain. 'But then he realised what truly mattered. Altruism. Love. He writes about wanting to build a family, and you...'

Dammit, he couldn't stand the thought of his wife praising David! What, he was now not just less successful, but less mature, too? Fuck that. He'd rather go set that green-eyed bitch straight.

Csilla groaned as she watched him go. 'Don't do anything stupid!' she called after him.

'I'll try!' he responded, making her shake her head once more

But this time, she was smiling.

***

The strigoi pushed her coffin's lid open, the, becoming immaterial, passed through the soil.

And stopped cold, watching something that only looked like a strigoi looking down at her, an infinity of monsters leering at her from behind his dark eyes.

She gulped, feeling the cold burn of divinity in the air around him. 'Yes?'

'They didn't stop you,' Loric said, bending the light to create images of the Paranormal Patrol and Hungary's police and military. Too busy cleaning up and recovering after recent disasters to pay attention to something so minor. 'Might ARC do so...' he reached into his flayed skin jacket, and she tensed, knowing it was futile. '...with a recruitment offer?'

And, when he extended his hand, it was holding a black and white business card.