The haunted kid in the skate park was still on Rowan's mind. Mostly because he felt like a coward for not having gone after the little guy. But... what was he supposed to have done? He had no idea how to talk to a shoe or a sweater or whatever the kid had that had had a Lost soul riding it. Giuliana would know. He wasn't sure why he felt so positive about it, but he did. He was sure she would. How could she not? She'd made a ghost scream.

He'd been thinking more and more about heading back to the Cabinet, just to see if there was anything left for him there, to see what - if anything - Leyna Stidolph had told Jack. The thought made Rowan feel sick. He didn't want to talk about it with Jack. Didn't want to make who he was a part of his life there. But right now he didn't even have a life there. Which was worse?

He walked down the street, kicking his heels against the pavement as he moved. For the last week, he'd been plagued by the feeling of... more-ness. He had more energy. Weird dreams - really weird dreams. But at least they weren't the usual dreams. Not all the time. He'd be in the cage, or on the table, looking up into the Doctor's pock-marked face and... it still hurt. It hurt like hell. Like it always did. But then she'd be there. In the shadows or beside the table. Not helping him, but... there. Not on his side, exactly, but not against him either. And the fact that he could see her face gave him... something....

He paused, lingering outside a 7-11. He didn't have any need to be there. It was, in fact, not where he wanted to be at all. Not even South Central. He shouldn't be here, because it was too close to Jack's and he still hadn't figured out if or how to go back. But he paused, feeling a kind of... immovability. Like he was waiting for something, even though he wasn't. What would he be waiting for?

Giuliana went into her purse and withdrew three twenty-dollar bills. She mused for a moment how utterly useless everything in the store was. She could buy a Slurpee and use it to conceal her blood drinking, but that was only an idea she used on special occasions. The Giovanni handed over the money to the cashier. "Put it all on pump five," she said. She could've simply Dominated the man, but in reality blood is worth more than money at times.

As she turned and walked out the door she noticed someone familiar. Her ghoul. He must've been pulled here by his vitae. Funny, he wasn't dead yet. Maybe today was the day he could get the talk. "I see you found me, Cameron. To be expected, honestly. Come, we have much to discuss," she said. She motioned for him to come with her to her car, not stopping at any point other than when she had spoken.

Rowan blinked at the familiar voice. It shouldn't have been familiar, not that familiar. He'd only really heard it once before. But, then again, he had been hearing it when he slept and sometimes when he was awake. Not words exactly. Just tone. Just the sound. The cadence. He'd been itchy at being pushed around for the week since he'd seen her, annoyed at things that had once made him back away, but for some reason, he wasn't annoyed now. He felt... good. Weirdly so. Like some kind of calm had descended on him.

He shook off the sensation and found he was already following her. He was halfway to the car and he hadn't even noticed setting off. That wasn't right, was it? No, he had meant to go with her. She'd told him to. Of course, he was going to. He had questions. That made sense. It wasn't like he didn't have a choice in the matter.

To prove it, he decided to put a stop to this 'Cameron' nonsense. It didn't occur to him that it was strange he'd randomly halted where she'd been. Or headed there in the first place. "No one calls me-" he started, but stopped himself. Of course, she was part of the Lost world and the Lost knew his real name. But... hearing it out loud from someone not dead was still enough to make his hands shake. He stuffed the untrustworthy appendages into his pockets. "People call me Rowan."

He cleared his throat. No. He's ask a question. Telling her things wasn't really his place, was it? It wasn't like he knew anything she didn't. "I wondered-" he paused again, blinking. "Wait - discuss? About what?"

The ghoul seemed to keep up with her, from what she could tell. He asked what to discuss. It should be obvious. But what she was dealing with wasn't even a family member-it was a naive ghoul. "Have you wondered anything since our last meeting? Noticed anything," she asked as she moved to the gas pump. She start pumping the gasoline into the car. As rich and immortal as she was, she still had to pump gas.

Teaching this ghoul would be arduous, but possibly worth it. In the back of her mind, she knew that the Giovanni only sired their own. The only possibility he had of getting sired was through marriage, and he'd have to prove a lot for that. Still, a rudimentary grasp of the spiritual realm was a start. His worthiness beyond that would have to be proven.

How did she know? Better yet, what did she know? Rowan bit his lip as he paused, awkwardly beside her and the pump. Because there was no way he was going to tell her that she'd been visiting his dreams. That was just... creepy. And embarrassing.

But questions... he had those. He had those in abundance. "Yeah... you don't know anything about the..." he glanced around the pump and to the sides. Nope no one around. "...Lost getting stuck in things, do you? I read about it, but I can't figure out how to get them out. And there was this kid... well. I felt bad for him. He was all mixed up in this Lost anger. Not pretty."

He shifted on his feet, flexing his hands in his pockets. "And I wondered if maybe you could explain how you made Franky feel stuff? Stuff other than his..." He checked again. Still clear. "His death feelings? 'Cause I'd never seen 'em have a physical anything that came from not how they... went on."

"Childe, my Family knows many secrets. We use things called Fetters. The spirits, or Lost as you call them, are bound to them. When people die, an object of importance is left to them. These can be used to manipulate or summon the spirits. Common objects are jewelry, paitings, coins, cars, even. However, they can be attacked directly, although not even I possess such abilities...yet. Hell, in time, I may even be able to travel past the shroud and into the shadowlands. However, this is all what I do not possess yet. You would need considerable training just to get to my level. There is still much you do not know..." she concluded.

She pumped the gas then proceeded to screw on the gas cap and put away the hose. "Come with me," she offered as she hopped into the driver's seat.

"So..." Rowan said, trying assimilate the information she'd just thrown at him. "There's stuff bound to them... I mean, I guess that helps us-" he paused, frowning. Not us. "-you. From before their death? And messing with that stuff messes with them?" But what did these Fetters do for the Lost, Rowan wondered. If there was something here that gave people power over them, wouldn't they hide it? Something? Maybe they didn't have a choice. Like where they died, maybe the things were just another part of that link - the thing that made them stick to the world that wasn't the turmoil.

Why on God's green earth would she ever want to go to the other side? It was awful! The glimpse he'd had of that other place had been enough to make him never want to so much as stick his nose close to it again. His life was filled with death enough as it was. He didn't need to add all the awfulness of the afterplace to that. Dark, churning, hellhole that it was.

She'd missed the whole question about the kid. That or she just didn't care. Either was possible really. Or maybe she had answered it and he just hadn't gotten it? Maybe it had to do with the Fetters? Maybe, on top of giving people like Giuliana a way of controlling the Lost, it also leaked Lost energy? Which meant it was a haunting kind of thing. How did she know what was a Fetter and what wasn't? What was the difference? How did she see it?

Again, he found himself a moment later sitting in her car as she pulled away from the station - not entirely sure when he'd gotten in. He remembered her words and his thoughts and beyond that... Rowan felt a well of panic start up around his heart, staring out at the night through the window. It pummeled his chest, made his muscles tighten and contract, pulling him in, then he looked back at her and the panic slowly began to ease. What was he so afraid of, he wondered. The car? No. There wasn't really anything to worry about, was there? She'd offered to teach him, she was answering his questions, it made sense that he was going with her. It did. Didn't it?

The black leather interior suited the Rosselini just fine. It spoke of luxury and formality, not being concerned with anything short of looking nice. She didn't want anyone to think otherwise of her. In the dash sat miscellaneous CDs, mostly Beethoven, Bach, and Pavarotti.

The Giovanni gripped her slender fingers against the steering wheel and began to drive. She left the radio off. She much preferred silence. "You're beginning to disappoint me, though, childe. You've still only scratched the surface. Now, I know there's more you still haven't figured out," she said as she stopped at the next light. "Do you have any idea what you are, what I am? Have you not noticed anything different about your levels of energy, strength? This is not all about the Lost. There is much, much more to consider," she stated. Maybe he'd catch on, though there was an equal chance of him blundering or losing his worth. He still hadn't had the chance to adapt yet, however, so...she'd see. At least he hadn't gone into a psychotic frenzy.

When she spoke of him disappointing her, he felt the sense of calm dissipate like fog in the wind. Was he supposed to have learned more? Done more? Had she given him some assignment he hadn't heard - some way of failing her that he hadn't even realized? More? "I..." he looked at her nervously. It felt like there was so much riding on his response, but he didn't know what she wanted from him.

"What- yes. I... I - you know - see the Lost and talk to them and so do you and your family. That's what you said." More than the Lost, she said; what more could there be? He was missing some part of the puzzle, but it was like he was doing said puzzle in the dark with gloves on. "If there's more... if there's something I have to go, to earn what you've got to teach me, just tell me. I'll do it. I just... I don't..." He looked down, his hands fidgeting in his pockets like trapped rats. He could answer her question. He could do that much.

Things he'd noticed that were different... "I get mad... in the past few days. It's... not my usual way of dealing with stuff. Usually, you know, shit goes down and I run. But lately, I just..." he clenched his hand in his pocket, feeling the surge of power beat at him from the inside again. Was that what she was talking about? That feeling? How could she have known about it? "It's like... like I'm drinking coffee all day. Except I don't drink coffee. And..." he stopped short of telling her about the dreams again. Yeah... that was impossible to put into words. Sure, you're mad at me for some reason, but I see you when I sleep. That wasn't creepy at all.

"You serve very well, as should be within your nature. Cameron, there is much you will need to learn and absorb, and it won't be easy. So very much," she lamented. She did her best to act exhausted. Keeping the ghoul under wraps for now, as often as Giovanni employed ghouls to their service, as well as the stress of what was essentially raising it, began to wear on the vampire's nerves. She slipped in a CD of Carl Orff's Carmina Burana symphony. She kept the volume low so it would not impede upon their conversation.

The Giovanni continued to drive on the road, focusing herself. "What do you believe in? Be completely honest. You, one who sees the shadowlands, can talk to the dead. What do you think is real in the world?" she asked. Let's see what he had to say. It felt like she was asking for a date, awaiting to pop the question on him, except this romance was meant to be one-sided from the start.

Rowan wasn't sure how to respond to what she said. He didn't particularly want to serve anyone. He'd been on his own for a long time - and no, it hadn't been joy and rainbows, but he'd been surviving. He didn't want to be beholden to anyone. Didn't want to rely on anyone. Didn't want to owe anyone anything. But... payment for services rendered. He got that. Nothing was free. And yet... the fact that she thought that he did anything 'very well' was enough to make him practically salivate. What the hell was going on with him lately? Why had he fixated on her in this way? He wondered it for almost a minute before the need for approval trumped the sudden wariness.

As the music played, he stared out through the windshield and considered her question. It didn't seem to follow the line of the conversation, but he was willing to go along. Something to do with what he was supposed to be learning. What did he believe in? What did he think was real? It was such an open ended question and he wasn't entirely sure what kind of answer she was looking for. "Ah..." he blew out a breath, nervously, trying to stop fidgeting. "What's real... like... religiously? Because I'm not totally sure about that. I was raised Catholic-ish, but... frankly, I can't believe that the situation with the Lost and how the world is could possibly be in anyone's 'plan'. It's a mess. The whole situation. It's hell for everyone involved. Well... not hell. I mean... from what I've seen there's not really heaven or hell, just... turmoil. Just never-ending fucking turmoil for everyone, whether they were good or bad. And the ones who get stuck here or manage to cross over, those are the lucky ones. And this world sucks, so..." He looked at his knees. "This world really sucks."

He cleared his throat. "Is that what you were asking? Or... like... about ghosts? 'Cause obviously... those are real. I thought I was crazy for a while, but... I'm not. So..." he considered the dirt that had gathered on the knees of the new jeans Jack had gotten him. Shit, and he'd just left... He chewed his lip. Because oft he questions. Because of what Jack had said. He slanted a glance at Giuliana sideways. "I heard there's more... you know. More... weird stuff. But... it's not like all the stories can be real. That'd be ridiculous. People just do shitty things and sometimes they're so shitty there's no way to explain it except for calling it not human. Like werewolves..." He rolled his eyes, snorting. "And vampires. Like those are real things."

Vampires. Bingo. He just had the disbelief that needed to be worked out in an oh-so-subtle-manner. Giuliana started off slowly by extending her fangs. This was something she rarely had to do, mostly due to the fact that she rarely got to feed on an actual human. Maybe he'd catch on.

"What if I told you those things were real. What if vampires, werewolves, fairies, mages, gargoyles, and a whole mess of other things were real? What if there has been many, many of them throughout history. Now, I know you'd have disbelief, as well as shock. Hopefully, in this situation, your supernatural abilities would serve you well to ease into such a belief," she stated. Let's see how this went. She was completely prepared to kill her thrall if he acted...poorly...to what she was saying. Hopefully this would not be the case.

Rowan listened to Giuliana with an increasingly curious expression. What was it with the people in his life becoming so credulous lately? First Jack, now Giuliana? Neither of them had seemed particularly naive to him, but... Well... Come on. If things like that existed people would believe in them. The way people believed in ghosts. If you talked to someone long enough, anyone could end up admitting at least to the fact that some places had a certain feel to them, or that they felt like their grandmother was watching them, or that bad people were haunted by the memories of those they'd killed. There was a sense in the population, even if they didn't admit to it, that the things he knew were real actually existed. No one actually thought the dead walked physically, grew fangs, and ate people. That was just silly.

Maybe she was messing with him. Trying to figure out if he was a moron. It was a backwards kind of test, but she was a mysterious kind of woman. She had a right to be oblique in her methods. "If you were to say that..." he temporized. "I guess I'd ask you to prove it, 'cause I believe in the Lost because I've seen them, talked to them, not because some one told me they were around and I kind of got over believing in the tooth fairy a while ag-" he trailed off, catching a glimpse of her fang.

He stared. He couldn't help it. It didn't look like plastic. It looked like tooth. Like real, honest to goodness long tooth. His brain began to simultaneously rattle off curse words and try to excuse it. Was she fucking with him? Shitshitshitshitshit... What was the point? Wasn't she supposed to be teaching him? So what was some fang prank supposed to teach him? Was it April Fool's Day? Halloween? She'd made him drink blood. Whatthefuckwhatthefuck?? She'd made him drink blood and he hadn't thought twice. He'd told her his name. His real name. And he'd been having dreams about her. Wasn't that something that happened in Dracula? Didn't the girls in white nightgowns have dreams about him? Shitshitshitshit... Was he the girl? Was she going to eat him and leave him in dead in a four poster bed? Why the fuck was he in the car with her? His focus opened up off the tooth to the rest of her face and he actually felt his heart thump back to a normal pace. Like the sight of her was enough to make him be okay.

And wasn't that terrifying on it's own? he wondered, suddenly calm.

Shed made him drink blood, he thought again. Was he one of them now? Was that why he wasn't running anymore? Why he felt all this burn on the inside? Was that how it worked? Was it that easy? Was he dead? He didn't feel dead? But were they actually dead? Or was that not true? And he'd been out in the daylight. Could they do that? The media was inconclusive. Was Twilight right? Or Dracula? Could she turn into a wolf or a crow?

Or was she still fucking with him? "Okay... I'm just going to say... I really, really, really don't want to die."

There we go. Some sort of reaction. "Sorry to say it, dear-y, but we all have to die some day. I died twelve years ago," she explained. She could tell he'd be freaked out, so she quickly had to comfort him. "But killing you gives me nothing. Why would I waste my precious vitae on you if I simply wanted to feed or got off to it or something like that? You have a gift, your ability to see spirits. It's what my Clan, my Family specializes in. That's why I chose you to be ghouled," she said, turning further into the city. She let it all sink in.

"You're basically a half-vampire. You can still go out during the day, but you rely on my blood, and you need my blood to stay the way you are. I chose you, just as my family chose me. And that's not some occult shit, either. My clan consists of separate families, but we are all under the main family Giovanni. You are a Giovanni ghoul, and very lucky. It's a privilege, really. I do hope that you don't come to dissappoint me. And if you want proof, I could very well give it to you," she offered. Now that it's all out there, let's see how he'd react.

Rowan blinked. And then he blinked again. And then again. When the blinking showed itself to be of no help whatsoever, he stopped and focused forward, watching Los Angeles sidle past them. On the outside, he was very, very still. On the inside...

She was dead. Or she thought she was dead. No. Okay. Going with the evidence of very real looking teeth, he was willing to go with the idea that she was potentially dead-ish. Even though she didn't look dead. Nope. Didn't look like a corpse. Didn't smell like a corpse. Didn't even feel like a corpse. But... she was the one with the teeth. So if she wanted to say she was a corpse. A walking, talking, blood-drinking corpse... well, then... she could say that. Arguing the point seemed kind of suicidal.

So... she was dead. Twelve years dead. Looking pretty good for twelve years dead. No rotting or anything. So... good job there. He felt a skittish hiccup warble in his throat and swallowed to keep from laughing. Right. Dead woman driving him in a car... and apparently she wasn't thinking about killing him. No. That wasn't what she'd said. She said that killing him wouldn't help her. So... she had thought about killing him. But had decided against it. For now. The skittish laugh tried to break free again and he swallowed it back, keeping his eyes front and steady. Okay. He was okay. She wanted him alive. She wanted him alive because he was a freak.

Never had he been quite so grateful in quite this way that dead people talked to him. Of course... if they didn't, he might not have caught the interest of a dead person with teeth. But... beggars couldn't be choosers, he guessed.

But 'ghouled'? What the fuck did that mean? Since when was that even a verb? Wasn't a ghoul like... like Igor? Was he going to grow a hump? Have to ring bells in a tower somewhere? What the hell had she done to him? Oh. Half-vampire. Half-vampire. Right. Sure. No big thing. Half-vampire. Sort of dead. Sort of not. Have to drink blood to live. To be who he was. What happened if he stopped? Did he stop living? Stop seeing the Lost? Half-vampire. Ghoul. Sure. Okay.

His hands found their way to his knees and settled there, just to be somewhere he could see them. To make sure he wasn't growing talons or something. He sort of wanted to pull of his shoes and make sure there weren't hooves there now.

So... when she'd said her family... she hadn't meant her family. She'd meant... what... the dead people who had killed her? Or... no. Her family was just... what? Mostly dead? Whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck... Lucky. He was lucky. Lucky to be half-vampire, turning into Igor, drinking blood, and not quite dead yet. Privileged. Yeah. That did sound pretty fucking lucky, actually - honestly. In comparison to being entirely dead and twisting in the craphole void that waited on the other side... maybe he'd look good with a hump. It wasn't like he was a pretty picture to start with anyway. Nope. The Doctor had pretty much ruined his chances for male modeling so... why not go from freak to freakazoid?

Given the options available... he didn't feel like asking for the complaints department was the smartest of moves. It was probably manned by zombies anyway.

Slowly, he turned his head to face her and again felt the racing of his pulse subside into an exaggeratedly slow ka-thump.... ka-thump... He looked at her wrist, no mark, no scar, nothing to show that there'd been any damage there only days before. On some instinct he wasn't sure he liked, his tongue darted out to wet his lips. "That's okay... you don't have to- I mean... I'm good. Thank you."

He cleared his throat again. "So... that whole daylight rule's a real thing then..." he said, nodding, as though he were asking about the scores of the last Jets game. "And I have to keep... ah..." he looked at her wrist again. "Okay," he said, more to himself than to her. "Okay... There's not... some kind of... like... book - I can read - about this, is there? Or... I mean, I'm all for not disappointing you... because... yeah, I get the idea that might not be healthy... what with the... you know - teeth - and everything... but not totally sure on... how... to... not do that...?"