It started innocuously enough. One Sunday morning she was out on her usual walk. She'd made it to her bus bench and was sitting there listening to the world and thinking about things. She noticed the sound of drums - no - of one drum beating in an intricate rhythm. It seemed to be at a great distance. She thought someone must have gotten some new CDs or a new stereo. Rude to disturb the neighborhood at this hour, though.

She heard the drum at other times, in other places. Once when she was taking a long bath. On walks to the Fruited Plain. In the Silver Owl. But she never heard it when she was in her room.

Over time the volume grew. She began to hear it most of the time. She became convinced it was not a "normal" thing, since it disappeared the moment her head crossed over the wards into her room.

One day, when the volume had reached an irritating point, she made a comment about it to Thomas. He responded:

"What drum?"

The talk had been long, even painful. She considered it their first argument. He wanted her to stay in the warded room while he was somehow going to trace what he couldn't perceive and deal with this threat.

Kind of him, but rather boring for her.

Was it Ford? It was obviously magick if Sue's wards blocked it. Was it Ford trying to drive her crazy? What was the purpose of it? What was special about her that she should hear it when he couldn't?

She should see if Sue could hear it.

She told Thomas she'd stay in the house and mostly in her room for a week to let him try to figure out what was going on. After that they'd have to talk again.

That decision came into question that evening when Thomas found her dancing in the hallway. Dancing ever closer to the head of the stairs.

Thomas pushed her roughly back into her room - their room - and yelled. She sat on the edge of the bed and appeared to listen. She'd been so surprised. She hadn't been aware of what she'd been doing. She'd only been aware of the drum - a heartbeat with terminal arrhythmia - the soul of the world dreaming - eternity knocking at her door.

She hardly understood the words in Thomas' fear-based diatribe. How could she explain to him what had happened when she didn't understand herself?

In the middle of the night, lying next to a sleeping Thomas, curled within his arms, she still felt the drumbeat in her blood.