"Mutants and Greek gods and a stupid Aerosmith song," she countered. No uncertainty in her words. Diana's fantasies certainly never involved Aerosmith. "When you sing, dogs howl."

But she could remember him singing. To make her laugh. They sat together on a sofa in a freshly-painted apartment. He crooned and yowled and wrapped his arms around her while she squirmed with delight.

And if she dreamed up a boy to love, she was fairly certain he would have been able to carry a tune.

"I felt you," she pointed out. "You're real and solid. And so am I." Or at least as real as a Cainite could be.