I put the one hundred forty dollars for the week into my wallet, put the passbook in my shirt pocket, grabbed my walking stick, and was out of the building after me and the bank teller exchanged our good-byes.

It was a cold November morning with sporadic rain. I was in my long underwear, jeans, a denim shirt, and a coat. My arthritis was acting up pretty bad, but what could I expect; being the 79 year old fart I was?

It was a quarter of a mile to my retirement home. In my state, it might take me ten minutes to walk it on a good day; but walk it I did, almost every day.

My sole pleasure these days was to eat out once a day. It might be breakfast, it might only be a coffee and doughnut, or lunch. Meals were included at my retirement home with the rent. My social security covered that, and left me with six hundred left over every month. I'd retired at 72, so I had a little more than I needed. I didn't spend much on medical costs, because I figured if I was going to die, I'd die. I wasn't going to waste my money prolonging the inevitable, and I wasn't that bad off. I'd taken pretty good care of myself, had been a vegetarian most of my life, was free of all vices but caffeine, and I wasn't even remotely diabetic. Oh, I had a few other problems, but nothing to warrent any medications.

My eyes were still sharp, my hearing was adaquate, and dementia just wasn't going to happen. My mind was as sharp as a Damascus steel blade. I still read a lot of books, I surfed the web every day, and I never stopped learning things. I even had all my own teeth.

Fog was coming in. I looked at the park across the street, and contemplated going for a while. I could sit by the lake until the rain came again, or by one of the fountains for a while, or if it rained; maybe under the gazebo. It was a nice park that went for about 3 blocks in each direction. It was covered in weeping willows, oaks, and elm trees. Blackberries and wild strawberries grew at the north end. The play area for children was well maintained, and in addition to the swings, the slides and bars, there was an elaborate, tiered wooden structure that was like a little mini-maze; and it even had a small clubhouse on top.

I would have loved that when I was a child.

Yes, I'd go to the park. I know I was cold, but maybe I'd come back to this side of the street for a cup of coffee before going home. Nothing beat a cup of Kona with two tablespoons of sugar, and real cream. Ruth's Tea And Coffee actually served real cream. Yes, I'd go there after. I'd even spoil myself and have a biscotti.

I went to the light, and crossed the street. Moving hurt like hell, and I didn't quite make it before the light turned red; but it was close enough not to interfere with traffic.

With my luck, it started drizzling the moment I hit the sidewalk.

Toward the gazebo I went. As I approached, I found two people were there. I would have preferred to be there alone, but oh well. The two were a couple of longhairs, and they were dressed in tattered rags that would do nothing to ward off the elements. Despite their ratty clothes, they didn't have that 'homeless' air about them.

They were clean shaven, not a hair was out of place, and I was picking up faint traces of sandalwood and jasmine from the two. From their faces, they may have been twins. The structure of those faces was identical, but one was a pale red head with dark eyes, and the other was alabaster white with red eyes. I guess one was an albino, but it seemed his eyes glowed. The white one was also a few inches taller than the red head, and both were exceptionally beautiful for men.

They had two beat up accoustic guitars out, and a violin case was on the bench, along with a recorder. "Hi," said the red head. "Do you mind being treated to a concert of classical Irish folk tunes?" His accent was Irish.

I suddenly was glad they were here. I was German, but I loved Celtic music. "I'd like that very much," I said, as I sat down.

"Thank you," said the white one.

When I sat down, I had an easier time of it than I thought I would.

Not only did they play, they sang. One soprano, and one tenor. The voices were clear, beautiful, and heavily accented. It was a treat. They started out both on guitar, then one or the other might take up the 'fiddle', as they called it, or the recorder.

After they started performing, I wanted it to last forever. They started out with some traditional Irish drinking songs, including Finnegan's Wake.

I forgot it was cold. I forgot that it hurt to move. I forgot I was in a small city. I forgot everything. . .but this experience. This wonderful, enchanting experience. I may as well have been a young man in his prime, and I may as well have been in Ireland four hundred years ago.

I closed my eyes. I imagined an evening with feasting, and dancing, and bonfires all around.

Then the two broke the routine. They did a modern piece. They did a cover of Orinoco Flow that made me fight not to cry.

After that, they no longer sang in English. I guessed they only sang Gaelic, but I wasn't sure. All I knew is the music after was such I never heard before.

Oh, it was Celtic. There was no doubting that, but it was the most moving, haunting material I ever heard in my life.

When they finally stopped, I don't know how much time had passed. I looked up at the sky, and it told me nothing. It was still cloudy, it was still drizzling lightly, and there was no sun to be seen. "Do you play professionally?" I asked after they put their instruments away.

"No," said the white haired one. "We just do it for our own pleasure, and the pleasure of the select few we either invite into our lives, or those who just happen to pass by when we feel like playing in the open."

"Who are you?" I asked.

The red head said, "I'm Vergil Xanon, and this is Keith. . .Munster." He'd pronounced the first name, 'Kayth'.

Keith whirled on Vergil, and bared his teeth in a snarl. I swear he had fangs. "You just wait."

Vergil laughed. "Oh, I almost can't."

"Forget he said that," said Keith to me. "The last name is a joke because of where I was. . .born. I never had a last name, considering the circumstances of my beginnings."

"You two aren't related?" I asked.

"No," said Keith. "We're just friends who work to-gether."

"Can I buy you two a couple of cups of coffee across the street? I feel it's the least I can do for what you've just done for me."

They looked at each other, and Vergil shrugged. "I guess so, but we can get our own."

"I'd feel better if you let me buy just to make a small gesture of repayment for the treat you just gave me."

"All right," said Keith. "I suppose so."

When I stood up, I didn't need the walking stick. It's like I didn't have arthritis any more. This was all too weird, but not in a bad way; so I wasn't going to complain. When I took a few steps, then I couldn't take it any more. "What happened to me? When I got here I was in a lot of pain whenever I moved. Now it's gone."

"I don't have a clue," said Vergil.

I scowled. "Are you a couple of psychic healers or something?"

Keith looked at Vergil and with a shrug, he said, "I guess he's on to us."

I smiled. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I did," said Keith. "It's just we'd rather work under cover. We don't want to be bothered by the masses, you know?"

"Now I want to take you to lunch," I said.

"Let you work off your bogus self inflicted Karmic obligations that don't have a place in an unconditional world, huh?" asked Keith.

"Please?" I asked. What he said was quite interesting. I wanted to know these two.

"OK," said Vergil. The both went to walk with me, but they left their instruments on the benches.

"Don't you want to take those?" I asked, pointing to the guitars.

"No need," said Vergil. "No one will steal them, and it wouldn't matter if they did."

"Then I guess I'll leave my walking stick here, too. I don't need it now."

"You'll never need it again," said Vergil.

"Where would you like to eat?" I asked.

"We're vegetarian. Fresh Choice is a nice place." said Vergil.

It was cheap, too. I said, "I don't eat meat either. All right. Nice that they have one at that strip mall across the street, huh?"

"Convenient," said Keith.

We walked to the street corner.

I barely noticed that only two cars passed us as we waited for the light to change. It just didn't register. There were no people on the sidewalk, and when we walked into Fresh Choice, there was no one in line. There were the cooks, the servers, and the cleanup crew. One table had customers. A young man and a lady who may have been in her early thirties, and both had fiery red hair. The lady was quite a distraction to me, being perhaps the most beautiful woman I ever saw.

We all made ourselves various salads, I had the cream of mushroom soup, while both Vergil and Keith got split pea, I got some French bread with butter, and those two each picked up a three seeded onion bagel with butter. Not only did the two look alike, but they seemed to have identical tastes in food.

Me and Vergil sat down, but Keith went over to the table with the other customers after he put his food on the table, and ruffled the hair of the woman. "Macha! Stefan! What are you two so intent on that you didn't even notice us?"

Oh god, Keith; and probably Vergil knew those two.

Macha looked directly at me. "I can't believe I did miss you. Especially with your fine looking gentleman guest. Shall we sit with you?"

I couldn't believe what the lady just said. And her voice was so clear, and beautiful. Another Irish accent, and I was charmed to no end.

Keith said, "Actually we're David's guest. He heard us play and decided he wanted to compensate us for our practise session, of all the silly things; but he seems to be quite interesting and I hope we stay in touch for a while."

Did I tell them my name? I wasn't sure, but I didn't think so.

Vergil stood up and pointed to another table. "Let's move to that table. It's bigger."

We all got our food and moved to the eight seater. After I was seated, Keith said, "This is Macha and Stefan. They play with us too."

I really had to fight not to stare at Macha. She was milky pale, had flawless features, and was dressed in a black halter top, a slit black mini-skirt, low heeled knee high boots, a silver torc, an asp armlet around a very defined bicep, and two thick silver bracelets around her wrists. She also wore a knife at her belt. She was tall, and powerfully built. She looked like she worked out, but she was still on the slender side, so she obviously didn't do steroids. She looked quite feminine, and let's say I found her presence. . .distracting. She also looked potentially dangerous. I felt like I was in the room with a tigress.

"Pleased to meet you. Are you all in a band?" I asked.

"Not technically," said Macha. We just play together once in a while when we feel like it. There's been others, but they come and go." The way she was looking at me, I felt like I might have been a tasty dish on the table or something. I couldn't understand it at all. A stone fox like her looking at an old coot like me like I was Orlando Bloom or something.

I stabbed a piece of tomato, and it tasted like nothing I ever had before. It may have been dropped from heaven. I had a few more bites of my salad, and couldn't believe anything could taste that good.

When I looked up, the four were staring at me. Macha said, "I think this charade has gone on too long. I believe it's time you tell my new lover here the truth of the situation, considering that the word patience isn't in the vocabulary of Macha the Red considering these matters."

I almost went under the table in embarrassment. "Excuse me?"

"Look at your right hand," said Keith.

I did. It was the hand of a twenty something year old, and not the hand of what I last saw when I paid attention to it.

Macha stood up, and a mirror appeared in her hand out of no where. She came around the table and walked over to me. She caressed my hair and held the mirror in front of me.

I saw what I looked like in my early twenties, and yes; I had been an attractive youngster. She gently traced her hand across my upper back, and set me on fire. "You never made it across the street, David Stoddard. You were hit by a van, and killed instantly.

The minute she said that, I found myself no longer at the restaurant, but sitting on the edge of a canopy bed in a luxurious bedroom. "And now I want you, if you don't mind," she added.

In a rather dazed state, I said, "I don't mind."

If this was death, why did I struggle so hard to hold on to life for so long?