But I did watch it. After retrieving the vodka bottle.

Luna had been sitting beside her. The television went from blank to bright, and she was suddenly there, absently stroking the cat, rubbing perfectly manicured fingers along its temples and ears and brow as she waited for the recorder to engage. Only belatedly did she realize it already had. I laughed aloud at her expression—surprise, pleasure, and chagrin all at once—but instead of rewinding and starting again, she simply shrugged it all away, as was her way.

“Hiya, sis! Now get that sour look off your face, this is a great idea, and just wait until you see how smoothly I’ve edited it. I’m an absolute star!” She giggled, sipped from a wide-bowled martini, a movement I echoed with my own drink. “So, I figure we can do this every year from now on, commemorate the year just past, and, you know, look forward to the next year and stuff. I’ve been doing it for myself for a few years now, kind of a video diary, and it’s a great way to keep track of where you are, and who you are, you know?”

She tilted her head as if waiting for an answer. Then, shaking a finger at the camera, she said, “And no, that doesn’t mean you have to make a disk for me, I already know you won’t. I’ll just do it for the both of us, and then fifty years from now we can have a slumber party and watch them all at once! How does that sound?”

“Like as much fun as a root canal,” I said, not meaning it. It sounded fucking fabulous.

“Oh, shut up.” Olivia smiled, a knowing glint in her eyes. I smiled back, and for a second I could actually believe there was a connection there; that she saw me seeing her, and was responding in real time. I opened my mouth to say something, anything to draw the moment out, but it had already passed.

“So now, without further ado, here is…” She did a poor impression of a drumroll, earning what I took to be a feline scowl from Luna. “…the first quarter century of your life!”

It was, indeed, a video diary of my life. Actually, they were just photos, a slide show running to music—beginning from my infancy to chronologically span the twenty-five years since—but they appeared to be moving because of Olivia’s editing, and I felt myself caught up in the story. The story of my life. A collage of images meant as celebration.

And I saw what Cher had been talking about. One moment there was a photo of me, grinning madly as Ben and I leaned against an old oak in Lorenzi Park, shade dappling our young faces in playful patterns, and his arms wrapped firmly around my waist. The next moment the clock she’d spoken of had stopped. Me, alone. An empty shell, smiling because it was expected, but looking straight through the camera. I didn’t even remember it being taken. “Jesus,” I said on a sigh.

Then Olivia was back. The light in the room was different, revealing the passage of time, and Luna had left her side. She was leaning forward, gaze intent. This time she’d caught the red light flicking on and the exact moment the tape switched back to her. She caught my eye.

“I know you hate all this mushy stuff, but bear with me for a moment because, I don’t know”—she looked to the side, like she was looking out the window, then back again—“I just feel like I need to tell you this now. Like tomorrow will be too late somehow, and I don’t want to have any regrets.”

My breath caught. God, I thought, and she was supposed to be the ditzy one?

“Please know that I love you deeply, and I admire you, and I wish…or I used to wish I could be more like you, but…” She laughed, a small and fragile sound, while motioning down her body with one fragile, manicured hand. “Well, look at me.”

“Don’t,” I said to her, too late, dropping to my knees in front of the television. I traced her face on the screen. “Don’t say that. You’re perfect the way you are.”

“Still,” she continued, oblivious to me and my tears. “We all have our talents, right? And mine is keeping us together. You and I. I know you don’t trust a lot of things or people in this life, but you can trust that. Happy Birthday, sis.” And, on a teary self-conscious giggle, she blew me a kiss good-bye.

I lowered my head into my hands and shook as the screen went blank. The sound that came from my throat was that of a small animal. It shattered the room in a keening wail, like cracked glass jarred from inside me. I jerked at the brush of fur against my leg, and looked down to find Luna staring up at me, her tail straight and quivering as she pressed her lithe, white body against me.

“Miss her too, huh?” I scratched her as I’d seen Olivia do, and she fell for it. Literally. She dropped in a pool of fur at my feet, anticipation rumbling through her body. What a picture we must make, I thought. A drunken woman and her cat.

Then another voice, his voice, filled the room. Luna and I both whipped to attention and one of us hissed. I wasn’t so certain it was the cat. I whirled around, but it wasn’t until my eyes landed back on the screen that I saw him. “Fucking bastard.”

Ajax’s long face stared at me from the television. “Is this thing on?” he said with mock exaggeration. He leaned forward, tapping on the camera so his knuckles hit the screen, and laughed.

“Well, no matter. I don’t really expect you to see this, Joanna, because I know they’ll fix it—fix you—so you never see your sister again, but just in case…just in case you’re stupid enough to stay nearby, in my city, alive, I thought I’d send my own birthday wishes. Give you a little something to remember me by too.”

He blew a kiss, as Olivia had, and as I sat there, I smelled rotted cactus juice, cold ashes, and another odor in the apartment that wrapped around my neck like crimson pearls, a drop of blood for every person he’d ever killed, and there were many. I gagged. Luna raced from the room, ears flattened, and I had to cover my mouth and nose with my palms so that my voice came out muffled. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.”

“Just so you know, I can smell you too,” he continued, and lifted a hand to his neckline where he withdrew a silver chain and began toying with it. I wanted to plow my clenched fist through the television screen. I wanted to rip that chain from his fingers and put it back around my neck where it belonged. “You’re everywhere even though you appear to be nowhere. But then, we both know looks can be deceiving.”

He inhaled deeply, a connoisseur musing over a glass of wine. “Yes, you’re here in your sister’s apartment, just as you can be scented in your own secluded, sorry excuse of a house. I’ve even been to the dojo where you trained for what must have been years. Your sweat and blood and fury absolutely stain that place, like the pit of a rotted apricot, all that golden juice gone to mold.”

He shuddered delicately, before lifting my necklace and running it between his lips, scraping it along his front teeth, licking it with his tongue. I lowered my hands as the room cleared of his scent.

“Do you know,” he continued conversationally, “that I could even smell you at your funeral? Not in the coffin. No,” he shook his head, “that wasn’t you they lowered into the ground, was it? But your imprint was on that poor sap who actually believes you’re dead. You know,” he paused again, tilting his head, “the cop?”

I rose to my knees to grip the sides of the television screen, my face inches from Ajax’s. He smiled indulgently and crossed his legs. It would have been effeminate if it hadn’t been so damned calculated.

“I know you’re new to all this, dear, so let me give you a little lesson. Love has a distinctly pungent smell, and when it attaches itself to another emotion, such as sorrow, it acts as a bonding agent, as an enzyme does to a molecule. Processing it. Altering it. Making it other than what it was alone. I find the results particularly…heady.” He sniffed delicately. “You can imagine how surprised I was to find that Joanna Archer had allowed herself to be loved. It’s rather nice to know, actually. Restores my faith in womankind.”