The Scrivener s Tale - By Fiona McIntosh Page 0,47

the midst of his confusion and dislocation, Gabe felt a part of him hold back as he began to fall into whatever new dreamscape Angelina was forming for him.

It was the kernel of strength and self-possession and even self-awareness that had brought him through his darkest hours; it was the part of him that urged him to breathe, forced him to wake up and accept the day and to find a way through each new one until the pain of his failure and loss of his family began to diminish into the background of his life. He knew from his counselling work that many people didn't have this special private place in the core of their being to draw upon, to rely upon. It couldn't be taught. Couldn't be bought. Couldn't be acquired. It simply had to be discovered within. He believed everyone possessed this special 'force' and he had encouraged his patients to find it, hunt it down. Many had succeeded, with his help.

He was sure his elders didn't think he possessed any deep strength; they'd viewed him as a coward for running away from confronting the reality of his life, offering wisdom that, in his grief, he couldn't stomach hearing.

The accident was a random event. It's not your fault. Except it was.

You can't be in control all the time. You can. He shouldn't have looked away from the road.

You aren't the enemy. He felt like the enemy.

You can't save everyone. You're a psychologist. Not a god.

Or his personal favourite. You have to move on.

He knew they meant well; knew these soothing words worked for some people, but to him they were sickening placations.

And so now as he travelled toward his haven, wondering whether he was dead or alive, he held back the one last part of him that he exercised total control over and no-one else could touch ... not even Angelina, with her erotic, irresistible manner. He closed himself around the kernel of his most private self - his soul, as he liked to think of it. He rolled it up tightly, every bit of himself that was truly him - character traits, personality, ideas, memories - and wrapped them in a separate sphere that was no longer connected to his body but hovering invisible within it, and he clung to this sphere ... this new embodiment of himself. It was his only link with the reality he knew. The cathedral was a dream. He couldn't be convinced otherwise but, oh, how he wanted it to be real ... to live it, touch it, smell its scented candles, taste on the back of his palate the fragrance of herbs crushed underfoot.

The scape before him was shaping into brilliant colour; he could hear muffled sounds beginning to sharpen, a faint aroma begin to reach him. This had not happened before. The cathedral began to soar before him in all its imposing, soft grey beauty, every aspect of it coming into sharper focus.

He hadn't been aware of himself as flesh since Angelina kissed him but now he was aware of her body more than his own. And she was pulling away from him in a slow, gentle slump. Her once beautiful dark, smoky greyish eyes gave him a listless gaze in return and he could see the life leaching from them. Her grip around his waist was loosening but all the while the wetness that he recalled feeling, was increasing. It was not his desire ... it wasn't even hers.

It was blood.

He could see its red brightness, gleaming and glistening. He'd been stabbed! Angelina's blade. She'd stabbed him and his hands were covered in his life's blood. As he thought this, he became acutely aware of Angelina's naked body becoming entirely limp as it fell away from him. There was a soft smile playing about her generous lips that had been kissing him so deeply just moments earlier.

And he realised with deeper shock that it was Angelina who was dead. And the knife was in her belly ... it was her bright blood, her life taken.

He had killed her, just as she'd asked.

He looked around, desperate for help, the name of Reynard springing to his lips, but he was no longer in his apartment and he was no longer near his cathedral. He was nowhere at all that he recognised.

Reynard burst through the door of Gabe's apartment with an anxious-looking concierge following hot on his heels and making loud protests. The small man