"The hetaerae?" Brayden was even more astonished than I was. He gave me a scrutinizing look. "Yes... yes. I suppose - if such materials were hypothetically possible in that era - that this is something you'd expect to see find on a hetaera instead of the average Greek matron."

"And they were prostitutes, right?" asked Adrian. "These hetaerae?"

"Some were," agreed Brayden. "Not all. I think the usual term is courtesan." Adrian was completely deadpan. "So. You're saying my sister's dressed like a prostitute." Brayden eyed my dress. "Well, yes, if we're still speaking in hypothetical - "

"You know what?" I interrupted. "We need to go. It's going to rain any minute now. I'll take Adrian home and meet you back here, okay?" I refused to let Adrian continue to play whatever game he had going to torment Brayden - and, by extension, me. "I'll text you when I'm on my way back."

"Sure," said Brayden, not looking very sure at all.

He left, and I started to get into the car until I noticed Adrian trying - and failing - to open the passenger side door. With a sigh, I walked over and opened it for him. "You're drunker than I thought," I said. "And I thought you were pretty drunk." He managed to get his body into the seat, and I returned to my own side just as raindrops splashed on my windshield. "Too drunk for Jailbait to feel," he said. "The bond's numb. She can have an Adrian-free night."

"That was very thoughtful of you," I said. "Though I'm guessing that's not the real reason you were hitting the bottle. Or why you came here. As far as I can tell, all you've accomplished is to mess with Brayden."

"He called you a prostitute."

"He did not! You baited him into that."

Adrian ran a hand through his hair and leaned against the window, watching the rapidly unfolding storm outside. "Doesn't matter. I've decided I don't like him."

"Because he's too smart?" I said. I remembered Jill and Eddie's earlier comments. "And unmemorable?"

"Nah. I just think you can do better."

"How?"

Adrian had no answer, and I had to ignore him for a bit as my attention shifted to the road.

Storms, while infrequent, could come up fast and furious in Palm Springs. Flash floods weren't uncommon, and the rain was now pouring down in sheets, making visibility difficult. Fortunately, Adrian didn't live that far away. That was a double blessing because, when we were a couple blocks from his apartment, he said: "I don't feel so well."

"No," I moaned. "Please, please do not get sick in my car. We're almost there." A minute or so later, I pulled up at the curb outside his building. "Out. Now." He obeyed, and I followed with an umbrella for myself. Glancing over at me as we walked to the building, he asked, "We live in a desert, and you keep an umbrella in your car?"

"Of course I do. Why wouldn't I?"

He dropped his keys, and I picked them up, figuring I'd have an easier time unlocking the door. I flipped on the nearest light switch - and nothing happened. We stood there for a moment, together in the darkness, neither of us moving.

"I have candles in the kitchen," said Adrian, finally taking a few staggering steps in that direction.

"I'll light some."

"No," I ordered, having visions of the entire building going down in flames. "Lie on the couch. Or throw up in the bathroom. I'll take care of the candles." He opted for the couch, apparently not as sick as he'd feared. Meanwhile, I found the candles - atrocious air freshening ones that smelled like fake pine. Still, they cast light, and I brought a lit one over to him, along with a glass of water.

"Here. Drink this."

He took the glass and managed to sit up long enough to get a few sips. Then, he handed the glass back and collapsed against the couch, draping one arm over his eyes. I pulled up a nearby chair and sat down. The pine candles cast fragile, flickering light between us. "Thanks, Sage."

"Are you going to be okay if I leave?" I asked. "I'm sure the power will be on by morning." He didn't answer my question. Instead, he said, "You know, I don't just drink to get drunk. I mean, that's part of it, yeah. A big part of it. But sometimes, alcohol's all that keeps me clearheaded."

"That doesn't make sense. Here," I prompted, handing the water back to him. As I did, I cast a quick look at my cell phone's clock, anxious about Brayden. "Drink some more." Adrian complied and then continued speaking, arm back over his eyes. "Do you know what it's like to feel like something's eating away at your mind?" I'd been about to tell him I needed to leave, but his words left me cold. I remembered Jill saying something similar when she was telling me about him and spirit. "No," I said honestly.

"I don't know what it's like... but to me, well, it's pretty much one of the most terrifying things I can imagine. My mind, it... it's who I am. I think I'd rather suffer any other injury in the world than have my mind tampered with."

I couldn't leave Adrian right now. I just couldn't. I texted to Brayden: Going to be a little longer than I thought.

"It is terrifying," said Adrian. "And weird, for lack of a better word. And part of you knows...

well, part of you knows something's not right. That your thinking's not right. But what do you about that? All we can go on is what we think, how we see the world. If you can't trust your own mind, what can you trust? What other people tell you?"

"I don't know," I said, for lack of a better answer. His words struck me as I thought how much of my life had been guided by the edicts of others.

"Rose once told me about this poem she'd read. There was this line, 'If your eyes weren't open, you wouldn't know the difference between dreaming and waking.' You know what I'm afraid of? That someday, even with my eyes open, I still won't know."

"Oh, Adrian, no." I felt my heart breaking and sat down on the floor near the couch. "That won't happen."

He sighed. "At least with the alcohol... it quiets the spirit and then I know if things seem weird, it's probably because I'm drunk. It's not a great reason, but it's a reason, you know? At least you actually have a reason instead of not trusting yourself." Brayden texted back: How much longer? Irritated, I answered back: Fifteen minutes.

I looked back up at Adrian. His face was still covered, though the candlelight did a fair job of illuminating the clean lines of his profile. "Is that... is that why you drank tonight? Is spirit bothering you? I mean... you seemed to be doing so well the other day..." He exhaled deeply. "No. Spirit's okay... in as much as it ever is. I actually got drunk tonight because... well, it was the only way I could bring myself to talk to you."