As I walked up the stairs of my luxurious underground mansion, I laughed. I knew I wouldn't see it again next week, or maybe even to-morrow.

I've done all I've wanted to do. I was rich beyond imaginings, I lived in one of the most beautiful, temporate parts of the world, I had a decent following of my own after splitting from a cult I'd helped publicise, and was virtually deified by all those who I'd allowed to know me.

To the rest of the world, I was obscure. That's how I remained as I was. Self-serving, powerful, and unstoppable.

In the past, I'd worked with a Hollywood cult figure in the Pagan fields. I ended up exposed to some pretty esoteric Druidic secrets that served me well. I had the self-discipline to mold myself into one of the most effective witches, sorceresses, whatever, that the world had ever known. . .not that my name would ever make the history books.

I'd made a fortune in semi-local wars via gun running, drugs, a few other underground activities and ended up paying very few taxes in my life. I also had everyone who inconvenienced me, killed. Occassionally I did it myself, but those times were rare.

No one was at my home now. I gave all the household staff a week's paid vacation. My adoring helpers who would have just as soon have worked for nothing but the pleasure of serving me.

Did I appreciate them? In truth, I just took them for granted. I had no feelings for them. Most mere mortals were beneath me. They were certainly stupid enough, and all too easy to manipulate to earn my respect. Just tools for my aspirations which I had reached a few decades ago.

I got to the top of the stairs, unlatched and pushed open the door that was a false wall to a room of the small house that fronted as my entire home. A neat little four room cabin in the woods with a fireplace, allegedly no indoor plumbing, an outhouse a well, and no electricity, for it was far too remote for the powerlines to reach, while being cost effective for the power company.

Fine by me. I did have plumbing down below. I had a huge aquifer under my land, and my vast den was powered by methane. The place was self contained, and way back in the woods. Part of my private road was paved, part of it was dirt. I had to maintain an illusion of being a land wealthy, but cash poor country girl. That was easy enough.

I owned more than a square mile of this redwood forest. A lot of the area was burned up a few years ago, but with the Otherworld allies I had, and a little bit of weather and wind manipulation in my own right, my land and the land surrounding it was untouched.

I was pretty much over the hill, now. My body was beginning to fall apart, and I figured it was time to move on. If I couldn't flow and do all I wanted with no pain, I wanted no part of life anymore; for I knew there was much beyond life. I've seen this over and over again, and walked the Otherworld many times. I existed in both this world and the one beyond. For me, The Veil was just another open door. I'd lived almost seven decades. That was long enough. After all, what more did I have to accomplish here?

I got into my mechanically emaculate, ancient, four wheel drive Jeep. I needed it to get out of here when the weather got too wet. Part of my road was unsurpassable during rainstorms, unless you had a good service vehicle like mine. It didn't look like much, but you can't always judge a book by it's cover. It wasn't the body that counted. It was what was under the hood.

I was going to have a last meal, and say a cryptic good-bye to my favourite burger-joint/coffee shop owner.

I hit the main road this cool, windy November evening, and would be arriving at a small, white restaurant with very large front windows in about ten minutes. Not many came here. Driving through these parts made a lot of people nervous. The undercurrents of this locale were extremely evil, and you had to be a rock not to notice.

Of course, I didn't care. It suited me just fine. I was just part of the scene. Here was a dark power fed by the more vindictive ghosts of the genocide that they had been subjected to in the distant past, that I managed to harness. I sympathised with these ghosts, and used their hate for my purposes.

The dead could affect the living, and I knew how to make it easier for them. It suited them, and it suited me. Of course, just because I sympathised with them didn't mean I wouldn't use them. Because a person was dead didn't mean they were any more difficult to manipulate. Especially when something was in it for them.

Actually, I had a degree of contempt for ghosts; not that I'd let them know it. If someone chose to cling to the realm of the living for any reason after they could be free of it, they imprisoned themselves. They might as well be clinging to the bars of a jail cell, refusing parole. Being a haunter was a pitiful thing. It was self-defeating, and stupid; but I really had no right to complain. They were trustworthy, loyal, and even more adoring than my living worshippers. If I wasn't so practical, and self-contained, I may even have loved them.

But that wasn't the way it was.

It was a little after 9:00 P.M.. I pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant. It was beginning to get foggy. I liked that. It was also going to be very cold to-night. I liked that even more.

The place was heated, and cozy. Electric candles lit the walls, there were seven tables, but I could eat at the counter. I always ate at the counter.

Charles wasn't there to-night. Instead, there was a youngster who looked like he was still in his late teens. A pretty, pale red-head with long, layered hair. He was in a black T-shirt, faded bell-bottomed blue jeans, and low platform boots that may have added two inches to his rather short stature. "Where's Charles?" I asked.

"He's got to have some time off. I'm covering for him this evening," he said in a gorgeous Irish accent.

I sat down on a stool. "Super burger with everything on it, breaded mushrooms, onion rings, coffee and a large Mango Madness."

I was served in a minute. Everything had already been cooked and put to-gether. The burger looked better than ever. It was three times as thick, and it smelled heavenly. I was also given a latte, not coffee.

"I was expecting you. I know we usually don't serve them, but I figured a visit from my favourite Irish-American witch gave me an excuse to make a garlic mutton burger to her liking, with pickles sliced the long way, and an unheard of tablespoon of Worcestershire sauce on top in addition to the mayo and Dijon mustard on the bottom?"

I just had to smile. In the otherwise empty restaurant, I said, "Works for me, and considering what you know about me; I sense you are not a threat."

"Hardly. The latte is hazelnut. Charles got the machine in last weekend." He grabbed a bottle of dipping oil off the shelf, and shook it. "Here's some herbal vinaigrett dipping oil for your mushrooms and onion rings, since you can't stand the Ranch Dressing."

"Why thank you," I said. "And how do you know all this about me?"

"The same way you know I'm not a threat to you. Not that anything can be a threat to you now, huh?"

I had a bite of my burger. It was the best thing I ever tasted in my life. "I suppose not. What's your name, young man?"

"I go as Vergil Xanon."

I chuckled. "An Italian name for an Irish lad who looks about as Italian as Chief Joseph. But you did say, you go as. You have another name?"

"You'll find that out before daybreak."

"Oh? And what does that mean?"

He smiled. "Now that you're here, you have no intention of going anywhere if you don't have to. After all, you did sleep in until about 5:00 today; so you won't need to sleep for a long time, my virtual vampiress."

"You're a telepath?"

"As a matter of fact, your thoughts are mine."

I had a sip of the mango smoothie. Oh man. It must have had four times the fruit of the usual, and I tasted something else in it that wasn't right for what it was supposed to be, but made it more heavenly than ever. "Intriguing."

"What you taste in the Mango Madness, is passionfruit juice."

"Since you picked up on my contemplating the nuances of this drink, you must know what I am."

He shrugged nonchalantly. "A ruthless woman who will stop at nothing to get her way. Amazing you can keep your slender form, eating like you do."

I chuckled. "Do I know you?"

"In a fashion. Mind if I join you with dinner? I'm a little hungry myself."

"Please do."

He had a burger made for himself. He picked it up. "Soy and mushroom burger. I'm a vegetarian."

"At home, my meat is from Niman Ranch. I don't approve of factory farming, but I like meat, so I won't give it up. I don't deprive myself of anything."

He got himself one of the Mango Madness smoothies. "You never did."

I had a couple of mushrooms and an onion ring. The room seemed wavey for a moment, I almost felt like passing out, but then everything was OK again. "This is true."

"You seem to be one of those who never changes regardless of what happens or how many lives you've lived, but I still love you."

I scowled. "How can you say that? I never saw you before."

"Yes you did. Back home. . .in Erin. . .so many lifetimes ago. . .when your name was Fuamnach."

I was suddenly beginning to know things I had no way of knowing. "You poisoned me. I'm no longer alive as I was."

"You were going to kill yourself to-night. . .mother."

I closed my eyes. "Donn, my dearest Donn." I got off the stool, and went behind the counter. I embraced my son from those lifetimes ago. "I love you too. I'm sure a son couldn't be any more worthy the pride of his mother than you."

He embraced me back. "Thank you, mother; though some would call me a basketcase."