I don't usually ship this pairing, but someone once suggested this topic and it's been bumping around my head ever since. It finally crystalized tonight, and I can't sleep, so…

This little vignette is completely independent of my other works, and takes place about two decades after A Perfect Blood (which is the latest book out at the time this was written). Inspired by Entre l'amour et la mort, by Savior 8801, one of my favorite stories on FFN.

Waiting

There's a children's book I read once, about a magical land with witches and demons and talking animals. It was written long before the Turn revealed that such fantastical creatures lived among us already, even if the animals didn't really talk and were really only animals on full moon nights. And really, I only loved the book because it had talking horses and I was eight. But anyway. There's a beautiful, sarcastic, strong girl telling a story about her life, and she says, "The sun was dark in my eyes." The phrase always stuck with me, with its simple expression of utter, hopeless desolation. It's no wonder she tries to commit suicide, and very fortunate that her horse- who becomes her best friend- talks her out of it.

The sun was dark in my eyes, now.

And I had no Jenks to badger and shame me back to the sunlit lands. Only last year, our faithful friend had left us. A strong man might outlive his spouse, but even Jenks' stalwart heart could not long survive the passing of his last child. No more demon curses for him. He passed as he lived, the world's first crotchety old pixy for all that he still looked eighteen, kvetching all the way until he finally rejoined his beloved Matalina under the bluebells. Thirty seven years- the oldest pixy who'd ever flown the earth.

I retreated once more to my church. Not the church that had hosted our runner business, not after the firebombing that followed the riots that followed the loss of magic. This one, a younger building; but still a church because that's what we'd grown together in. Smaller. Homier.

Holier.

I stepped carefully over the threshold, past the foyer and into the sanctuary, the warmth of the seven layered curses lapping at my chi as they recognized me and accepted me. But now I only felt empty; devoid even of an inkling of pride that they even functioned. So much had been lost, when the ever-after finally folded in on itself and winked out of existence. My eyes avoided the mantel of the fireplace behind the altar, which held the mementos of my greatest loves, many now faded from my life: the photograph of myself and human-sized Jenks, a smiling photo of Kisten on his boat, a shot of my beloved mother arm-in-arm with still-not-sure-how-to-feel-about-my-rockstar father. A photo of Robbie and his ex wife. A photo of my elven goddaughter and her parents, with Trent on her other side caught in a rare moment of honest confusion at being included in my impromptu photo. A picture of David and our pack, gamely supporting my drunk ass after I'd had to get my tattoo redone for the third time. A funny shot of scowling Treble, dangling a grinning Bis by his tail. An ageless, dreaming chrysalis, in its place of honor next to the seventh incarnation of Mr. Fish, swimming in an ornately etched little fishbowl. (I never had gotten around to snapping a photo of my demon teacher — not that he ever showed me his true face.)

No photo of Ivy and I, though – that one was on my nightstand. But she permeated our home. Our entwined scents still clung to our sheets and perfumed the air. My eyes traveled the comfortably fitted room- fitted by Ivy, of course. Left to my own design, I'm sure I'd still be living in mismatched Ikea squalor. My heart clenched at last, the first sign that it retained any function. Deep within my soul, I imagined something shifted; but I was no expert on matters of the soul.

"It's been three days," I told her.

The silence was eloquent. There were none left to ask—none who could be trusted, anyway. Vampires, living or dead, had their own agendas. And in their eyes, I had failed them.

"I can feel you, still here. But…who is it that will walk through that door?"

The memory of Kisten's death sprang unbidden, and I tried to repulse the bitter recollection. Fucking Piscary. If the bastard had allowed Kisten even one more year of life—

But no. Tragic as his death had been, he'd also died honestly as he'd lived, keeping his love for Ivy and me even when it no longer held meaning to his undead mind. His soul hadn't been lost, he said. "God keeps them for us, when we return home." And perhaps we'd have been happy together…but then I'd have missed out on the last fourteen years. Or maybe fate would have thrown Ivy and me together anyway. I wouldn't have traded those years for anything, not even Kisten.

I glanced about the once-church, home to a witch and vampire utterly devoted to each other. I had my doubts that God, if he existed, approved my inadvertent attempts to circumvent his general rules about life and death. But then, there wasn't a lot to go on when it came to living vampires—if you listened to the Fundies, they were all damned the moment they were born. But Ivy's faith was strong, and this church was Unitarian, so maybe I had a chance to do for her what I couldn't do for Kisten, or for my demon mentor.

God, I wished he were here right now. If Jenks couldn't shame me back into reason, Algaliarept certainly would have bullied me out of my funk.

If only I could have done the same for him.

No, I wouldn't go there. Not in my present bleak mood, when all of my past failures could easily rise up to overwhelm me. She'd scent the blood in my psyche, and it'd be all over. I may as well just go outside and open my veins for her right now, saving her the trouble.

"How do I even prepare for this?"

In my memory, Kisten, the newborn vampire, regarded me with distant bemused confusion, wondering why I'd become so important to him, asking in a wondering, bewildered tone why he cared—right after he'd died to save me. For years I'd had nightmares of Ivy, doing the same. Eyes black on silver, newborn and powerful, staring into me and seeing only the blood, the hunger, without all the love we'd so carefully built over the years.

Remember.

Above all else, Al had taught me about the power of my memory. My demon memory, which could create new realities and breathe life into a dead mindscape. It was my last hope, even if Lee, the only man alive who had a hope of pulling a tulpa from my mind, had flatly refused to help.

Remember.

But memories of Ivy were now eclipsed by the horror of her first death. The stupid, stupid accident. That damned motorcycle. That idiot human. The sheer chance that allowed me to see the whole thing in surreal dreamy slow motion, leaden feet unable to move, my circle too slow to rise to shield her. The shredded leather, the blood—oh, God, the blood. Holding her face, the only part of her I could reach, her calm face and her wide eyes staring up at me, faith and trust and boundless love. Her fading aura, which had merged so often with mine, was reaching out to me even if she could no longer move her arms. I flung my senses around her, my soul's precious other half, and held on.

Somehow, I did it. As her soul fled, I caught it, fluttering and confused, and I held it.

Now it's in me.

Does she know? Can she feel me? Does she know I'm holding her?

I was in a bottle once. It's not a very pleasant memory, for all its dreamy tranquility and endless cookie-baking. (For one thing, I was hiding from the trauma of nearly burning alive in a frozen ley line; for another, it had Trent, and a kiss I still feel weird about. He'd saved my life…but business is business, and elves are elves, and that's another story for another time.) I remember the confusion, as I slowly healed back to myself, the lassitude, the purposelessness, trapped in a moment stretched out into eternity with no clear beginning or end. It wasn't frightening at the time, but this memory, too, features in my nightmares. It seems that whenever I feel relaxed, truly replete with happiness, I awaken in a panic that I've never actually left that bottle. What if everything that's happened since is just a feverish dream of my dying soul?

I remember dying, too. Those dreams...still aren't as bad as the bottle dreams.

I found myself in our kitchen. It's smaller, because I do my spelling downstairs now, in the secure cellar where there are no gas lines or pipes or other openings to interfere with my circles. Not that there are really any dangers to having an insecure circle, not anymore. Hell, I'm lucky I can even make a circle anymore. Ley lines are hard to come by. I had to carve my own, down there, with the help of Bis. Dear Bis. He slept now, but he'd spent the last two nights curled beside me, giving what little comfort he could.

The scent of lemon mingled with the faint stink of three days of unwashed dishes in the sink, and—hell, I'd just missed trash day, hadn't I? Ivy will be so annoyed—

Oh, God. Ivy.

I sank into her chair as the torrent of grief, still undiminished, broke me again that day. My fingers crushed her organized papers in my fists, bringing them to my face in a senseless gesture — as if I could suck in her organized essence from her neat handwriting. They turned to ashes in between my fingers. Shocked briefly back to reason, I emptied my chi and employed deep breathing techniques instead.

Remember.

God, it was hard to claw my way out of this misery, to recall anything besides pain and defeat. What if I couldn't do it? What if I did it wrong, and robbed her of her second life? What if I failed and couldn't even release her into eternity, and she were trapped within me forever, gradually absorbed into me? I shuddered. I'd failed at so many things…I'd failed Kisten, I'd failed Jenks, I'd failed Al…

No. I hadn't failed Jenks. Or Al. Nothing could have saved Al. Perhaps I could have saved the Ever After, given enough time, but Ku'Sox had chosen to cut that time short. Al, too, died the way he lived—in a flamboyant gesture that shook the demon world to its foundations. If he'd just waited a few more hours…

…well, I'd have joined him, and I'd probably have perished in a much messier and less stylish fashion. I might have been able to save his soul, at least. I gave him the option. He'd turned me down. He left the world on his own terms, choosing his own idiot scheme over my harebrained idea of holding onto his soul as demonkind met their final end. And he took all his books with him, the vain, greedy bastard. I'm certain it was because he was far too proud to spend time in my bottle. I'm sure he's already figured out how to work the system down in Hades, already raising hell in Hell, but I wish he'd given me the chance to save him.

(Also, I wish that damned chrysalis would hatch already. The suspense is killing me.)

Remember.

Sunset was upon me, and I wasn't prepared. But that was hardly unusual; Ivy was always the planner, and I was the seat-of-my-pantser. (Which probably explained my frequently bruised ass. Oh, wait, that was usually Ivy's fault. Hey! From sparring. We weren't that kind of couple! Er…much.) But how does one prepare for facing the sudden death of the greatest love of one's life? How does one prepare for the return of her shell, freshly healed from her three days of transformation into a soulless undead, knocking on your door, nary a soul in sight? How do you prepare for the body that walks and smells and talks like your love, but doesn't remember why she loves you? How do you prepare for the fact that the love of your life is now a creature who exists only for one thing: to use you to feel alive again?

Simple.

You don't.

I couldn't even ask Ivy's family. They weren't speaking to me. I'd failed their daughter; they'd disowned me. And you don't poke the undead when your vampire scars are suddenly unclaimed again. The newly undead, those who hadn't passed that first thirty year mark, aren't exactly known for their impulse control. They'd never understood our relationship anyway. We'd found our blood balance, finally, thanks to Ivy's indominitable spirit and Al's reassurance that a demon could never be unwillingly bound to a vampire.

And we became lovers, too. It was a slow and gentle progression, from simple comforting touch to gentle caress to intimate embrace. Never blood, never pain, never allowing the lie of vampire pheromones to trigger Ivy's old conditioning. Or mine, for that matter. I had once needed danger and mistrust to engender passion. Who could have thought that I would find even greater love, even higher passions, and even deeper connection with my vampire lover, without mingling blood and sex? No vampire had ever understood us.

We had been so perfect.

It turns out a demon can be willingly bound to a vampire. Even if the bond is only in our hearts. Damned Fundies have made marriage impossible even between species, let alone between two women. The world is not a pleasant place right now, now that witch magic is depleted and the humans are striking back. God knows what the elves are up to, now that they've gone back into hiding.

My hands were trembling, and I jammed them under my thighs as I sat in Ivy's chair. I looked at the mess I'd made of her papers, not seeing it for the mess that was in my own head. I tried to snap out of it, I really did. I had to be ready! It was hard to breathe now. When Bis landed on my shoulder, my start nearly knocked him off, and I hissed as his claws dug into my skin.

"Sorry," he whispered.

My voice wouldn't work, but I stroked his foot reassuringly. He curled his tail around my neck, rumbling with the gargoyle equivalent of distress. We didn't need to rehash my morass of fears; we'd discussed them endlessly over the past two nights.

"It'll be all right," he said, and again my throat was too tight to reply. I reached up and stroked his hot, smooth flank, desperately glad that he was beside me.

I remembered something else from that stupid kid's book. Something about being rewarded for doing good deeds by being given ever harder tasks. Well…I had saved the world. A couple of times, actually. This was my reward? Well, I couldn't imagine getting assigned an even more difficult task after this. Pass this one, and perhaps we'd finally get to settle down to living our happily ever after. Maybe open that charm shop, now that I was one of the only witches around who could still make charms.

Yeah, right.

Forcing myself up, I went to the largest window, a twelve-foot high confection of stained glass depicting a Christ with his open arms outstretched. Earlier today I'd dragged a huge multi-headed gorgon of a candleholder before it, and now I lit each of the seven gigantic pillar candles. It came right up to the heart of Jesus, well over my head, and lit up the entire window with a beautiful, welcoming glow. Ivy might not be able to wear her crucifix any longer, and wouldn't be able to cross onto holy ground, but we always lit the crazy medieval thing when the other was out late, and I would light it for her now.

The sun was dark in my eyes, and it was inexorably slipping below the horizon. The next few hours would save or damn us. I tried not to consider my deepest fear of all, because I honestly didn't know what I would do, how far I'd go, how deep I'd sink:

What if she didn't want her soul back?

We shivered together, the last demon and her gargoyle, and waited for our vampire to come home.