With each step taken, life faded further from my current state into a past filled with as much darkened existence as the moonless night enveloping me. As I made my way through the winding streets, my thoughts plunged me through memories forgotten ... places visited while living the life of a wraith.

My footsteps echoed in the night, reminding me of the countless number of twisted, cobbled lanes I had run through while avoiding discovery. A shiver ran the length of my spine, the unforgettable reality something was happening. Pulling the collar of my coat closer, and tugging my hat lower, I crept down the renovated store-lined streets like a shadow clinging to a building.

Memories hurled from every corner, forcing my vision of new stores and restaurants to a time when the seething underbelly of society, and unfortunate lower classes, dwelt within the wretchedness known as Londontown's East End.

A stiff October wind blew across the Thames River, sending an unwanted chill down my spine, causing an uncontrollable shiver. The wind whipped to my core, forcing a scent from a hundred years ago up my nostrils where it spun a remembrance of diseased filth inside my head.

Months ago, I had stood on the steps of a Gothic-looking theater, willing myself not to collapse from the past invading through my nose. I had fought not only the nausea of hunting a killer, but the realization of the Docklands' affect on me several hundred years later. The stench of mills and tanneries combined with the decay of the area, permeating my head until it filled with the mortal demise of the past.

Moving undetected through the shadows didn't relieve the anxiety crawling along my skin, spreading a form of insanity as the wind blew another relived moment. I saw the many places I had lived, if you called it living, and shuddered. Avoiding the eyes of those around me made the memories more concrete while I tried escaping the pull of my past.

Many times I had slept among the diseased and dying just for body warmth; more times I had slept among the stacked bodies of the dead, using their shrunken frames to block the chill of winter's relentless pursuit. The dead and near dead of my past helped me survive through many centuries, how odd that while struggling to free myself of the past clinging to me like filthy second skin I now cared for one of death's converts.

Dense fog formed as I worked my way further into a portion of the city only those with dealings between the less than upstanding citizenry visited. Turning the corner found me standing in front of a pub that had been remodeled but not reformed, a place where life was cheap and death was paid for in many ways, money the least of those ways.

Entering the dimly lit establishment brought two things into clearer focus: would this meeting keep Braedon Carlisle safe, and the bigger question--would my past ever stop hunting me?

The press of human flesh grew oppressive as I eased through the crowded pub still humorously known as the Royal Arms. I reached a secluded portion of the room and slid into a darkened booth occupied by two of my oldest friends.

"Well, the magnificent McCabe finally graces us with her presence."

I stared into amber eyes, noticing his odd smile didn't quite reach them. "Was there something you wanted to talk about, Keegan, or were you just prattling as usual?"

"Just tryin' ta make pleasant conversation. Ya wound me McCabe, no need ta become hateful."

I watched his eyes turn feral when I didn't respond.

"Get her a drink, Keegan, and let the chill drop off her bones before ya subject her ta more of yar drivel. McCabe, ya still drinkin' whiskey?"

I nodded.

"Good. Keegan, be a chap and get us another bottle, and McCabe a glass."

Keegan's eyes flashed an angry look my way. He rose, and then crossed toward the bar with his customary cat-like grace. Watching his fluid movements made me wish we still traveled together despite his obnoxious ways.

"Ya scent betrays ya McCabe, I smell yar longin' clear ta my toes. How long has it been?"

Allowing my gaze to come to rest on the man across from me, I studied his unusual features, my mind drawn further into past remembrances. Time hadn't been as kind to him as it had me. While I appeared to be in my late twenties, he had begun to look like a tired sixty fast approaching one hundred years old. His slate-gray eyes disappeared for a moment with his odd blinking, and then reappeared having turned their true color of brick-red.

"I've missed you, Zander."

"Did ya now? Funny way ta show it lass; haven't talked ta ya for years. I see yar sportin' a new eye color, brown's a little dull for the fair McCabe."

I removed my black knitted hat and sighed.

"Ach, 'tis a disguise I see."

"Something like that. It's rather difficult to hide my hair and eye color; it's also hard to move in this town since they know me here."

"True enough. Ya aren't meant for hidin', McCabe, none of us are. Show me yar eyes at least; let me see the real girl."

"I can't, these are contacts, I've had trouble changing the color. Now, I don't think you requested I meet you here to discuss my physical traits. What has brought you and Keegan back to London?"

Zander kept staring. "Ya never did answer my question, how long has it been?"

I leaned against the booth's back, never taking my eyes off Zander. "A while."

"No answer--"

Keegan slammed the bottle of whiskey in front of me, along with a shot glass. "There."

"Thank you, Keegan." I poured a drink and lifted my glass. "To old friends." I threw back the drink in one swallow, and then poured another.

Keegan cackled. "Yeah, drink up McCabe; ya gonna need more than that ta forget ya look like crap with that hair and eye color. Ya tryin' ta look like the walking dead ta impress yar new lover?"

Zander quit breathing.

I poured myself another drink and gave Keegan a hardened look. "I'm not the one that ate my girlfriend during sex because I couldn't control my needs, Keegan." My dagger was quick to pin his arm to the table before he slugged me. "I suggest you never try that again, I apologize for the devouring a loved one comment."