On time once more; this is becoming a worrying trend...

Thank you to all those most delightful, adored and generally awesome people who reviewed last time; Yukatalamia, Bex (Thank you! I think Desire probably had a stronger effect because it stripped away the fantasies she'd built to comfort herself; and it tapped into real fears that she had begun to put aside. I'm pleased with that last section; it's been half-done since the beginning of the story.), CalliopeMused, girltype, timeless (thank you! It was a bit different to anything I've written with them before.), LifeSucksWithoutVamps, Jega (Well...I guess not! You've beaten me into submission. Thanks), Daugain (It's great to hear from you again. This issue is something I intend to get into in Haloed, and fairly early on; partly by choice, partly by necessity. It's coming up to ten years of writing. Isn't that scary? April '97 was my first fanfic...eek. Future writing will definitely continue - Strange Lullaby up next! Thank you.), Wasurera, christenjones (Have you read Moonlit Sonata? It's a short story about Tri and Ross. If not, just let me know :) ), nOOdles (Can't say for sure but at the moment it's looking highly likely Desire will turn up at some point in Haloed. And thank you!), jewel (Man, this fake cough, uh, terrible debilitating cough is awful. I have to say, that wish is unlikely to be true for the whole story purely because of a major plot point. It's not impossible that Blue will run into Desire, which would be an interesting exercise...grin I have a couple of stories before I get to Haloed, but once I do, it should be pretty fun. Thanks!), annemarie delacour, Shards-of-Ice and last but by no means least, the alluring Alex (I replied via email).

Thank you too if you've read silently; I hope you've enjoyed it.

As you may have guessed, I do adore hearing what you think; the good, the bad, and the ugly. I won't cry if you criticise, unless of course you denounce the cuteness of kittens or the merits of chocolate in which case...well, it'll be war. Comments very much welcomed.

I hope you enjoy.

The Devil May Care Epilogue: Sandcastles

What, did you think it was over so easily?

How naïve. Haven't you learned yet? I'm Desire, unfulfilled, indestructible and insatiable. But I am free, and that's something I haven't tasted in so long that I'm drunk on the colour of the sky and the feel of the wind. I wander through the streets, wearing her face once more.

Persephone: she haunts us as she haunts Hades, and all the rawness and complexity of his feelings for her are embedded in us. She multiplies within us, virtue to our vice, until the girl with the fearless soul and delicate laugh hides from us in every set of eyes. I can wear her skin - I could even strip it off and turn her inside out, blood and flesh inverted and scoured by the dusty wind, but I still could not tell you who she was: only what Hades wished she was and thought she could be.

And I fear I never will. Yet my search must continue, and I must dredge more hearts to see if any trace of her remains in this world.

But perhaps...perhaps I have a place to start.

Hael Drax once knew Persephone. And he lives in some muted form; in dreams, at least, and dreams have always been a speciality of mine. A fathomless place ruled by yearning – yes, I can take my ease there amidst the shifting scenery.

Think of me when you pull the covers over you tonight – think of me, dancing through the worlds you create, waiting for the girl who brought spring to hell and crowned the dead with flowers.

And if you meet me there, if you're bold enough, I might just grant your heart's deepest desire.

X - X - X - X - X

The water was cool, the waves high and rolling. Chatoya limped out of the sea, grimacing at the ache in her leg.

"This is taking forever," muttered her companion.

"But it's working," she answered.

Michael Keane gave her a tired smile. The lacerations on his legs and chest were healing well, and he claimed he liked his new battle wounds ("Something to dazzle the ladies," he'd joked), but she resented her inability to help him. "Yeah, I know. I just wish it'd heal faster. I want to get back to work."

Her own wounds had been cleaner, and shallow despite the meticulous savagery inflicted on her. Although she was healing faster, Chatoya didn't share his urge to sprint back into the fray. She suspected Michael was still at the stage where he found all his work for Pursang dreadfully romantic.

For most people, being mauled by a demon would have cured that. Not Michael.

"Enjoy the break," she said dryly. "It's been years since I've been to the beach."

He pulled a face. "I'd enjoy it more if I didn't have to spend half the day in the sea."

"Be glad there's something that'll heal these." She gestured to their matching set of marks, his red and ragged, zig-zagging over his chest, hers a long set of pale parallel lines that speared down from her heart to her abdomen. "Besides, think how jealous everyone will be of your tan."

He peered at his skin, already gold. "It does make me look dashing."

Of course, if he'd had a little more experience – not to mention common sense - they wouldn't have been sunning themselves on the west coast, waiting for the saltwater to both purify and heal their wounds. Demon wounds were resistant to conventional healing, which meant nothing but time and tide would do it.

"I'm going to see if I can find some food," he said, glancing up the beach. "You be okay here, Pursanguia?"

"Fine. Be careful," she added. "We're here for another month, so don't let anyone see you."

His ragamuffin's smile flickered. "Will do."

X - X - X - X - X

By the time the afternoon was beginning to slide into evening, she was done with her borrowed book, and tired of spending hours sat in the sea. The tide was edging up towards her ankles, bringing a playful breeze with it.

She'd spoken the truth to Michael; it had been years since she'd been to the beach. Last time had been with her family, and she couldn't have been more than eight or nine. Josh spent a busy afternoon interring her father in the sand, and she had been immersed in building a sandcastle.

On a whim, she started to build one, moving closer to the sea, where the sand was damp and pliable. No more of these childish lumps, she decided. It would be a proper castle, keep and all.

So engrossed was she, Chatoya didn't notice that someone was beside her until a voice said in her ear, "Witch of mine, what are you doing?"

Chatoya was so startled that she managed to demolish one of her towers. But she hardly noticed as she looked up to find her soulmate standing next to her, looking down with an expression somewhere between bemused and supercilious.

And with him there, the resounding fact of her loneliness crashed in on her. His long absence had marred her as surely as the wounds that would never entirely fade from her skin. Desire had done only half the damage, and it almost seemed as if he had come to inspect its handiwork and match it to his own.

"What you doing here?" she said, aware she was staring.

"I was in the area, and thought I'd see if you managed to learn how not to get mauled by interdimensional beasts from the depths of darkness. They have rather sharp claws, you know."

She glowered up at him. "I'd noticed."

Without an invitation, he sat down beside her, and she was surprised to see that he, who she had always thought of as a creature of cold climes and shadows, looked oddly natural here. His eyes were as inky as the encroaching waters, but still and boundless, a strange mesh of sea and sky. The sinking sun threw out a muted light that fell over him like honey, stealing away the bladed lines of his face, and he sprawled on the sands as if it was his element, not hers.

When he didn't say anything, and did nothing but watch her and the frothing waves, she turned her attention back to her sandcastle. Carefully, she shaped the sand as best she could; four towers, then the walls, complete with saw-toothed battlements. She was just about to start scraping out a moat, childishly pleased by her creation, when he interrupted.

"Why are you bothering?"

She found the intensity of his gaze unnerving. "What do you mean?"

He gestured to her construction. "With that ugly contraption. It's pointless. It'll be gone in a few minutes."

"And?"

"And you'll have done all this for nothing. No one else will see it. No one else cares. All you've done for the last hour is move some sand around."

How long had he been watching her? Now she thought about it, there had been silence inside her mind for quite some time, always a sure sign that he was nearby. The further he went from her, the louder the white noise of his thoughts became, as though each step apart was resisted by the connection that bound them, stealing any respite his absence might have given her.

"Didn't you ever build a sandc-" Stupid question, she realised, the remark dying in her throat. Of course he hadn't.

"Emphatically not." The breeze picked up, and she wondered if he was manipulating it somehow. "I don't believe in wasting my time."

He would see it that way. "I have a lot of time to waste," she murmured, carefully patting the roof of the entrance into place. It was crumbling already, but not bad, she thought, for someone who hadn't turned their hand to such ventures for ten years.

"There are better things to waste it on. Your little castle will be dust under the water, and this beach will the same tomorrow as it was when you hobbled on to it this morning. You haven't changed anything."

She gave him a curious look. "I'm not trying to change anything."

There was a definite harshness to his voice, one she didn't understand. "How unusual."

Baffled, Chatoya could only watch as he got to his feet, the conversation apparently over. He was only a silhouette on the horizon when a gust of malicious wind danced in and smashed her castle to bits.

X - X - X - X - X

The next day found her sitting cross-legged in the shallows, the ends of her hair flicking damply about her face. She'd just about overcome her annoyance at having her labour of love destroyed, but her confusion remained.

Thoughts of Blue plagued her all day, persistent as the gulls that circled overhead. She replayed the conversation, trying to make sense of his cryptic words. But meaning eluded her, so she could only admit defeat.

That evening, she built another sandcastle, this one yet more elaborate, half-expecting Blue to appear and destroy it with a snap of his fingers. When the sands remained free of his presence, the salt-laden wind seemed a phantom of him as it darted and brushed by her, elusive and invisible.

She went to sleep thinking of him.

X - X - X - X - X

By the time the sun came down the following day, Michael was intrigued enough to help in her project, and the pair of them argued cheerfully about the finer points of their design. When they'd finished what Michael insisted was a near-perfect representation of a medieval fortress, the waters were already tugging at the base of it.

And Blue was not there.

The next day saw even more ferocious argument, and a larger sandcastle with accompanying village. If Pursang didn't work out, Chatoya was considering a career in architecture, though her qualifications were admittedly shaky.

Yet Blue was still absent. She didn't know why that bothered her so, except she felt that something had been left unfinished and unsaid.

Another bright morning, and Lance Stormshot arrived to find the pair of them involved in a sketch of the schematics. He stood and scrutinised their work, and just when Chatoya thought the Australian was about to throttle one or both of them, he scrubbed out half the plans and suggested a whole new section.

Whatever he'd come to see her about was completely forgotten under the surge of debate, the personal revelations which tripped out as they struggled to champion their design, a bevy of idle insults and finally, hard graft.

All this over a sandcastle, she remembered thinking. Lance left, muttering something about bringing a friend the next day, and leaving behind a veritable multiplex of sand.

She stayed to watch its demolition. Under the moonless night, the sea was reduced to dark movement which swallowed down their castle, the whoosh of the surf a gentle rhythm. Chatoya found it hard to recall when life had been this simple: when there hadn't been peril and pain hovering over her at every moment. It had been too long, she decided, content to merely observe, finding peace in this place of sound and motion, endless, repetitive, hers.

The first she knew of his presence was the shift of the sands behind her, and then his arms around her, he a solid heat at her back. Chatoya didn't acknowledge him except to settle against him, amused that the source of her troubles should have come here seeking solace.

He would never admit as much, of course.

"Why are you wasting time here?" she asked, keeping her voice low because it seemed a shame to spoil the ambience.

"I have some time to waste," he answered. "And nothing better to waste it on."

It was either a snide insult or a well-camouflaged compliment. But she didn't feel like arguing, so she only said mildly, "If you're here tomorrow, and you still have time to waste, you could come and move some sand around."

"I still don't see the point."

Perhaps that was the problem. "It's fun."

"Fun."

"Don't say the word like you've never heard it before," Chatoya said lightly, and then a thought struck her.

Was he happy?

It had never really occurred to her to worry about his happiness. Blue, she had always assumed, was quite capable of taking care of himself, and had little trouble finding gratification in whatever he wanted, wherever he wanted.

She didn't ask, because it was something she felt she should have known. But when she thought about it, she couldn't remember him doing anything without an ulterior motive in mind.

Except, perhaps, these few moments when he sought her out.

Sandcastles, she thought. She'd built it knowing it'd be washed away, knowing it meant nothing, doing it because she could.

Moving sand? Yes. Stripped down to its barest meaning, that was what it was. But it was other things too: sun on her face and grit under her fingernails. Arguments and stupid jokes and memories, and the pleasure of knowing that the sea would claim it back so she could do it all again the next day, but bigger and better.

But she wasn't sure he knew any of that.

"You have such a high opinion of me," he murmured, and she felt somewhat aghast to realise he had heard her thoughts: of course he had, because there was very little her soulmate didn't hear. Lulled by the sea, and his lack of antagonism, she had been unguarded. "And incidentally, I was wrong. I have built one of those infernal, aimless structures."

"Have you?" she said, startled.

"Once."

Then he'd missed the point, if all he got from it was the futility of it all.

But she didn't say anything, and she stayed there with him in the cusp of the night for a while, until he left her without a farewell. After that, there seemed little to love in the solitude and the shadows, and so she returned to firmer ground, and from there to bed, unsure why she felt so sorrowful.

X - X - X - X - X

Chatoya rose late the next morning, and when she reached the sand, prepared for another day of ocean bathing and tireless, heated construction, she found Lance and Michael already there, wearing identical expressions of consternation. And to her delight, Jepar was stood there as well, showing off an appalling Hawaiian shirt.

He gave her a careful hug, then whispered, "Cool trick."

She had only time to frame a question before Michael jumped in, his eyes bright. "There you are! You might have waited for us!"

"What?" she said, taken aback.

"What do you mean, what?" Lance put in indignantly. "Over there!"

He pointed to the small crowd, gathered near the tide line. Thoroughly perplexed, Chatoya wandered over, accompanied by the two vampires and their litany of complaints. She pushed her way through the onlookers, and stopped short.

Someone had built a three foot-high replica of the Taj Mahal, perfect in every detail, pieces of mica gleaming in the walls of sand like tiny gems. Puffs flew from it as the wind batted about the edges, and she saw pieces of shells gleaming on the turrets.

"I didn't do this," she said, her voice steady, though she felt as if she'd been robbed of breath.

"You didn't?" Jepar shook his head. "Who did?"

She gave a shrug, but she already knew the answer: scrawled on the sand in a message that wouldn't last, couldn't last.

Three words, only partially scuffed out by eager feet, and they brought an unexpected smile to her face:

Make that two.

Maybe you do understand, she told his ghost. Sandcastles, and us.

~*~ Fin ~*~

Thank you so much for reading. I hope you've enjoyed the story! I'd love to hear your thoughts, comments & criticisms.